KASTLE    KRAGS 


KASTLE  KRAGS 

A  STORY  OF  MYSTERY 

BY 
ABSALOM    MARTIN 


NEW  YORK 

DUFFIELD  AND  COMPANY 
1922 


Copyright,  1921,  1922 
BY  DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


KASTLE    KRAGS 


l 

2137264 


KASTLE    KRAGS 

CHAPTER   I 

WHO  could  forget  the  Ochakee  River,  and  the 
valley  through  which  it  flows!  The  river  itself 
rises  in  one  of  those  lost  and  nameless  lakes  in 
the  Floridan  central  ridge,  then  is  hidden  at 
once  in  the  live  oak  and  cypress  forests  that 
creep  inland  from  the  coasts.  But  it  can  never 
be  said  truly  to  flow.  Over  the  billiard-table 
flatness  of  that  land  it  moves  so  slowly  and  si- 
lently that  it  gives  the  effect  of  a  lake  stirred  by 
the  wind.  These  dark  waters,  and  the  moss- 
draped  woodlands  through  which  they  move, 
are  the  especial  treasure-field  and  delight  of  the 
naturalist  and  scientist  from  the  great  universi- 
ties of  the  North. 

It  is  a  lost  river;  and  it  is  still  a  common 
thing  to  see  a  brown,  lifeless,  floating  log  sud- 
denly flash,  strike,  and  galvanize  into  a  diving 
alligator.  The  manatee,  that  grotesque,  hair- 
lipped  caricature  of  a  sea-lion,  still  paddles  in 
the  lower  waters;  and  the  great  gar,  who  could 

3 


4  KASTLE   KRAGS 

remember,  if  he  would,  the  days  when  the  night- 
mare wings  of  the  pterodactyls  whipped  and 
hummed  over  his  native  waters,  makes  deadly 
hunting-trips  up  and  down  the  stream,  sword- 
like  jaws  all  set  and  ready;  and  all  manner  of 
smaller  fry  offer  pleasing  possibilities  to  the 
sportsmen.  The  water-fowl  swarm  in  countless 
numbers:  fleet-winged  travelers  such  as  ducks 
and  geese,  long-legged  dignitaries  of  the  crane 
and  heron  tribe,  gay-colored  birds  that  flash  by 
and  out  of  sight  before  the  eye  can  identify 
them,  and  bitterns,  like  town-criers,  booming 
the  river  news  for  miles  up  and  down  the  shores. 
And  of  course  the  little  perchers  are  past  all 
counting  in  the  arching  trees  of  the  river-bank. 
In  the  forests  the  fleet,  under-sized  Floridan 
deer  is  watchful  and  furtive  because  of  the  ac- 
tivities of  that  tawny  killer,  the  "catamount"  of 
the  frontier;  and  the  black  bear  sometimes  grunts 
and  soliloquizes  and  gobbles  persimmons  in  the 
thickets.  The  lynx  that  mews  in  the  twilight, 
the  raccoon  that  creeps  like  a  furtive  shadow 
through  the  velvet  darkness,  the  pink-nosed 
'possum  that  can  only  sleep  when  danger  threat- 
ens, and  such  lesser  folk  as  rabbit  and  squirrel, 
weasel  and  skunk,  all  have  their  part  in  the 
drama  of  the  woods.  Then  there  are  the  game- 
birds:  wild  turkey,  pheasant,  and  that  little  red 


KASTLE   KRAGS  5 

quail,     the     Bob    White    known    to     Southern 
sportsmen. 

Yet  the  Ochakee  country  conveys  no  message 
of  brightness  and  cheer.  Some  way,  there  are 
too  many  shadows.  The  river  itself  is  a  moving 
sea  of  shadows ;  and  if  the  sun  ever  gets  to  them, 
it  is  just  an  unhappy  glimpse  through  the  trees 
in  the  long,  still  afternoons.  The  trees  are 
mostly  draped  with  Spanish  moss  that  sways  like 
dark  tresses  in  the  little  winds  that  creep  in  from 
the  gulf,  and  the  trees  creak  and  complain  and 
murmur  one  to  another  throughout  the  night. 
The  air  is  dank,  lifeless,  heavy  with  the  odors 
of  vegetation  decaying  underfoot.  There  is 
more  death  than  life  in  the  forest,  and  all  travel- 
ers know  it,  and  not  one  can  tell  why.  It  is 
easier  to  imagine  death  than  life,  the  trail  grows 
darker  instead  of  brighter,  a  murky  mystery 
dwells  between  the  distant  trunks.  .  .  .  Or- 
dinarily such  abundant  wild-life  relieves  the  som- 
ber, unhappy  tone  of  the  woods,  but  here  it  some 
way  fails  to  do  so.  No  woodsman  has  to  be  told 
how  much  more  cheerful  it  makes  him  feel,  how 
less  lonely  and  depressed,  to  catch  sight  of  a  doe 
and  fawn,  feeding  in  the  downs,  or  even  a 
raccoon  stealing  down  a  creek-bank  in  the  mystery 
of  the  moon;  but  here  the  wild  things  always 
seem  to  hide  when  you  want  them  most;  and  if 


6  KASTLE   KRAGS 

they  show  themselves  at  all,  it  is  just  as  a  fleet 
shadow  at  the  edge  of  the  camp-fire.  These  are 
cautious,  furtive  things,  fleet  as  shadows,  hidden 
as  the  little  flowers  that  blossom  among  the 
grass-stems;  and  such  woodsfolk  as  do  make 
their  presence  manifest  do  not  add,  especially,  to 
the  pleasure  of  one's  visit.  These  are  two  in 
particular — the  water-moccasin  that  hangs  like  a 
growing  thing  in  the  wisteria,  and  the  great,  dia- 
mond-back rattlesnake  whose  bite  is  death. 

The  river  flows  into  the  gulf  about  half-way 
down  the  peninsula,  and  here  is  the  particular 
field  of  the  geologist,  rather  than  the  naturalist. 
For  miles  along  the  shore  the  underlying  lime- 
stone and  coraline  rocks  crop  up  above  the  blue- 
green  water,  forming  a  natural  sea-wall.  Here, 
in  certain  districts,  the  thickets  have  been  cleared 
away,  wide-areas  planted  to  rice,  and  a  few  an- 
cient colonial  homes  stand  fronting  the  sea.  Also 
the  sportsman  fishes  for  tarpon  beyond  the 
lagoons. 

A  strange,  unhappy  land  of  mystery;  a  misty, 
enchanted  place  whose  tragic  beauty  no  artist  can 
trace  and  whose  disconsolate  appeal  no  man  can 
fathom!  Forests  are  never  cheerful,  silent  and 
steeped  in  shadow  as  they  are,  but  these  moss- 
,  grown  copses  beside  the  Ochakee,  and  crowding 
down  to  the  very  shores  of  the  gulf,  have  an 


KASTLE   KRAGS  7 

actual  weight  of  sadness,  like  a  curse  laid  down 
when  the  world  was  just  beginning.  Yet  Grover 
Nealman  defied  the  disconsolate  spirit  of  the 
land.  He  dared  to  disturb  the  cathedral  silence 
of  those  mossy  woods  with  the  laughter  of  care- 
free guests,  and  to  hold  high  revelry  on  the 
shores  of  that  dismal  sea. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  allurement  of  a  September  day  had 
brought  me  far  down  the  trail,  past  the  neck  of 
the  marsh,  and  far  from  my  accustomed  haunts. 
But  I  could  never  resist  September  weather,  par- 
ticularly when  the  winds  are  still,  and  the  sun 
through  the  leaves  dapples  the  trail  like  a  fawn's 
back,  and  the  woods  are  so  silent  that  the  least 
rustle  of  a  squirrel  in  the  thicket  cracks  with  a 
miniature  explosion.  And  for  all  the  gloom  of 
the  woods,  and  the  tricky  windings  and  cut-backs 
of  that  restless  little  serpent  of  a  trail,  I  still 
knew  approximately  where  I  was.  A  natural 
sense  of  direction  was  seemingly  implanted  with 
less  essential  organs  in  my  body  at  birth. 

The  Ochakee  River  wound  its  lazy  way  to  the 
sea  somewhere  to  my  right.  A  half  mile  fur- 
ther the  little  trail  ended  in  a  brown  road  over 
which  a  motor-car,  in  favorable  seasons,  might 
safely  pass.  The  Nealman  estate,  known  for 
forty  miles  up  and  down  the  shore,  lay  at  the 
juncture  of  the  trail  and  the  road — but  I  hadn't 
the  least  idea  of  pushing  on  that  far.  Neither 
fortune  nor  environment  had  fitted  me  to  move 

8 


KASTLE   KRAGS  9 

in  such  a  circle  as  sometimes  gathered  on  the 
wide  verandas  of  Kastle  Krags. 

I  was  lighting  a  pipe,  ready  to  turn  back,  when 
the  leaves  rustled  in  the  trail  in  front.  It  was 
just  a  whisper  of  sound,  the  faintest  scratch- 
scratch  of  something  approaching  at  a  great  dis- 
tance, and  only  the  fact  that  my  senses  had  been 
trained  to  silences  such  as  these  enabled  me  to 
hear  it  at  all.  It  is  always  a  fascinating  thing  to 
stand  silent  on  a  jungle-trail,  conjecturing  what 
manner  of  creature  is  pushing  toward  you  under 
the  pendulous  moss :  perhaps  a  deer,  more 
graceful  than  any  dancer  that  ever  cavorted 
before  the  footlights,  or  perhaps  (stranger  things 
have  happened)  that  awkward,  snuffling,  benev- 
olent old  gentleman,  the  black  bear.  This  was 
my  life,  so  no  wonder  the  match  flared  out 
in  my  hand.  And  then  once  more  I  started  to 
turn  back. 

I  had  got  too  near  the  Nealman  home,  after 
all.  I  suddenly  recognized  the  subdued  sound  as 
that  of  a  horse's  hoofs  in  the  moss  of  the  trail. 
Some  one  of  the  proud  and  wealthy  occupants  of 
the  old  manor  house  was  simply  enjoying  a  ride 
in  the  still  woods.  But  it  was  high  time  he 
turned  back!  The  marshes  of  the  Ochakee  were 
no  place  for  tenderfeet;  and  this  was  not  like 
riding  in  Central  Park!  Some  of  the  quagmires 


10  KASTLE   KRAGS 

I  had  passed  already  to-day  would  make  short 
work  of  horse  and  rider. 

My  eye  has  always  been  sensitive  to  motion — 
in  this  regard  not  greatly  dissimilar  from  the 
eyes  of  the  wild  creatures  themselves — and  I 
suddenly  caught  a  flash  of  moving  color  through 
a  little  rift  in  the  overhanging  branches.  The 
horseman  that  neared  me  on  the  trail  was  cer- 
tainly gayly  dressed!  The  flash  I  caught  was 
pink — the  pink  that  little  girls  fancy  in  ribbons — 
and  a  derisive  grin  crept  to  my  lips  before  I 
could  restrain  it.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
fact  that  I  was  beginning  to  have  the  woods- 
man's intolerance  for  city  furs  and  frills !  Right 
then  I  decided  to  wait. 

It  might  pay  to  see  how  this  rider  had  got 
himself  up !  It  might  afford  certain  moments  of 
amusement  when  the  still  mystery  of  the  Flor- 
idan  night  dropped  over  me  again.  I  drew  to 
one  side  and  stood  still  on  the  trail. 

The  horse  walked  near.  The  rider  wasn't  a 
man,  after  all.  It  was  a  girl  in  the  simplest,  yet 
the  prettiest,  riding-habit  that  eyes  ever  laid 
upon,  and  the  prettiest  girl  that  had  ridden  that 
trail  since  the  woods  were  new. 

The  intolerant  grin  at  my  lips  died  a  natural 
death.  She  might  be  the  proud  and  haughty 
daughter  of  wealth,  such  a  type  as  our  more 


KASTLE    KRAGS  11 

simple  country-dwellers  robe  with  tales  of  scan- 
dal, yet  the  picture  that  she  made — astride  that 
great,  dark  horse  in  the  dappled  sunlight  of  the 
trail — was  one  that  was  worth  coming  long  miles 
to  see.  The  dark,  mossy  woods  were  a  perfect 
frame,  the  shadows  seemed  only  to  accentuate 
her  own  bright  coloring. 

It  wasn't  simply  because  I  am  a  naturalist  that 
I  instantly  noticed  and  stored  away  immutably 
in  my  memory  every  detail  of  that  happy,  pretty 
face.  The  girl  had  blue  eyes.  I've  seen  the 
same  shade  of  blue  in  the  sea,  a  dark  blue  and 
yet  giving  the  impression  of  incredible  brightness. 
Yet  it  was  a  warm  brightness,  not  the  steely,  icy 
glitter  of  the  sea.  They  were  friendly,  whole- 
some, straightforward  eyes,  lit  with  the  joy  of 
living;  wide-open  and  girlish.  The  brows  were 
fine  and  dark  above  them,  and  above  these  a 
clear,  girlish  forehead  with  never  a  studied  line. 
Her  hair  was  brown  and  shot  with  gold — in- 
deed, in  the  sunlight,  it  looked  like  old,  red  gold, 
finely  spun. 

She  was  tanned  by  the  Florida  sun,  yet  there 
was  a  bright  color-spot  in  each  cheek.  I  thought 
she  had  rather  a  wistful  mouth,  rather  full  lips, 
half-pouting  in  some  girlish  fancy.  Of  course 
she  hadn't  observed  me  yet.  She  was  riding 
easily,  evidently  thinking  herself  wholly  alone. 


12  KASTLE   KRAGS 

Her  form  was  slender  and  girlish,  of  medium 
height,  yet  her  slender  hands  at  the  reins  held 
her  big  horse  in  perfect  control.  The  heels  of 
her  trim  little  shoes  touched  his  side,  and  the 
animal  leaped  lightly  over  a  fallen  log.  Then 
she  saw  me,  and  her  expression  changed. 

It  was,  however,  still  unstudied  and  friendly. 
The  cold  look  of  indifference  I  had  expected  and 
which  is  such  a  mark  of  ill-breeding  among  certain, 
of  her  class,  didn't  put  in  its  appearance.  I  re- 
moved my  hat,  and  she  drew  her  horse  up  beside 
me. 

It  hadn't  occurred  to  me  she  would  actually 
stop  and  talk.  It  had  been  rather  too  much  to 
hope  for.  And  I  knew  I  felt  a  curious  little  stir 
of  delight  all  over  me  at  the  first  sound  of  her 
friendly,  gentle  voice. 

"I  suppose  you  are  Mr.  Killdare?"  she  said 
quietly. 

Every  one  knows  how  a  man  quickens  at  the 
sound  of  his  own  name.  "Yes,  ma'am,"  I  told 
her — in  our  own  way  of  speaking.  But  I  didn't 
know  what  else  to  say. 

"I  was  riding  over  to  see  you — on  business," 
she  went  on.  "For  my  uncle — Grover  Nealman, 
of  Kastle  Krags.  I'm  his  secretary." 

The  words  made  me  stop  and  think.  It  was 
hard  for  me  to  explain,  even  to  myself,  just  why 


KASTLE   KRAGS  13 

they  thrilled  me  far  under  the  skin,  and  why  the 
little  tingle  of  delight  I  had  known  at  first  gave 
way  to  a  mighty  surge  of  anticipation  and  plea- 
sure. It  seems  to  be  true  that  the  first  thing  we 
look  for  in  a  stranger  is  his  similarity  to  us,  and 
the  second,  his  dissimilarity;  and  in  these  two 
factors  alone  rests  our  attitude  towards  him.  It 
has  been  thus  since  the  beginning  of  the  world — 
if  he  is  too  dissimilar,  our  reaction  is  one  of 
dislike,  and  I  suppose,  far  enough  down  the 
scale  of  civilization,  we  would  immediately  try 
to  kill  him.  If  he  has  enough  in  common  with 
ourselves  we  at  once  feel  warm  and  friendly,  and 
invite  him  to  our  tribal  feasts. 

Perhaps  this  was  the  way  it  was  between  my- 
self and  Edith  Nealman.  She  wasn't  infinitely 
set  apart  from  me — some  one  rich  and  experi- 
enced and  free  of  all  the  problems  that  made  up 
my  life.  Nealman's  niece  meant  something  far 
different  than  Nealman's  daughter — if  indeed  the 
man  had  a  daughter.  She  was  his  secretary,  she 
said — a  paid  worker  even  as  I  was.  She  had 
come  to  see  me  on  business — and  no  wonder  I 
was  anticipatory  and  elated  as  I  hadn't  been  for 
years! 

"I'm  glad  to  know  you,  Miss "  I  began. 

For  of  course  I  didn't  know  her  name,  then. 

"Miss  Nealman,"  she  told  me,  easily.     "Now 


14  KASTLE    KRAGS 

I'll  tell  you  what  my  uncle  wants.  He  heard 
about  you,  from  Mr.  Todd." 

I  nodded.  Mr.  Todd  had  brought  me  out 
from  the  village  and  had  helped  me  with  some 
work  I  was  doing  for  my  university,  in  a  north- 
ern state. 

"He  was  trying  to  get  Mr.  Todd  to  help  him, 
but  he  was  busy  and  couldn't  do  it,"  the  girl  went 
on.  "But  he  said  to  get  Ned  Killdare — that  you 
could  do  it  as  well  as  he  could.  He  said  no  one 
knew  the  country  immediately  about  here  any 
better  than  you — that  though  you'd  only  been 
here  a  month  or  two  you  had  been  all  over  it, 
and  that  you  knew  the  habits  of  the  turkeys  and 
quail,  and  the  best  fishing  grounds,  better  than 
any  one  else  in  the  country." 

I  nodded  in  assent.  Of  course  I  knew  these 
things:  on  a  zoological  excursion  for  the  uni- 
versity they  were  simply  my  business.  But  as  yet 
I  couldn't  guess  how  this  information  was  to  be 
of  use  to  Grover  Nealman. 

"Now  this  is  what  my  uncle  wants,"  the  girl 
went  on.  "He's  going  to  have  a  big  shoot  and 
fish  for  some  of  his  man  friends — they  are  com- 
ing down  in  about  two  weeks.  They'll  want  to 
fish  in  the  Oohakee  River  and  in  the  lagoon,  and 
hunt  quail  and  turkey,  and  my  uncle  wants  to 
know  if — if  he  can  possibly — hire  you  as  guide." 


KASTLE   KRAGS  15 

I  liked  her  for  her  hesitancy,  the  uncertainty 
with  which  she  spoke.  Her  voice  had  nothing 
of  that  calm  superiority  that  is  so  often  heard 
in  the  offering  of  humble  employment.  She  was 
plainly  considering  my  dignity — as  if  anything 
this  sweet-faced  girl  could  say  could  possibly 
injure  it! 

"All  he  wanted  of  you  was  to  stay  at  Kastle 
Krags  during  the  hunting  party,  and  be  able  to 
show  the  men  where  to  hunt  and  fish.  You 

won't  have  to  act  as — as  anybody's  valet and 

he  says  he'll  pay  you  real  guide's  wages,  ten 
dollars  a  day." 

"When  would  he  want  me  to  begin?" 

"Right  away,  if  you  could — to-morrow.  The 
guests  won't  be  here  for  two  weeks,  but  there 
are  a  lot  of  things  to  do  first.  You  see,  my 
uncle  came  here  only  a  short  time  ago,  and  all 
the  fishing-boats  need  overhauling,  and  every- 
thing put  in  ship-shape.  Then  he  thought  you'd 
want  some  extra  time  for  looking  around  and 
locating  the  game  and  fish.  The  work  would  be 
for  three  weeks,  in  all." 

Three  weeks!  J  did  some  fast  figuring,  and 
I  found  that  twenty  days,  at  ten  dollars  a  day, 
meant  two  hundred  dollars.  Could  I  afford  to 
refuse  such  an  offer  as  this? 

It  is  true  that  I  had  no  particular  love  for 


16  KASTLE   KRAGS 

many  of  the  city  sportsmen  that  came  to  shoot 
turkey  and  to  fish  in  the  region  of  the  Ochakee. 
The  reason  was  simply  that  "sportsmen,"  for 
them,  was  a  misnomer:  that  they  had  no  con- 
ception of  sport  from  its  beginnings  to  its  end, 
and  that  they  could  only  kill  game  like  butchers. 
Then  I  didn't  know  that  I  would  care  about 
being  employed  in  such  a  capacity. 

Yet  two  or  three  tremendous  considerations 
stared  me  in  the  face.  In  the  first  place,  I  was 
really  in  need  of  funds.  I  had  not  yet  obtained 
any  of  the  higher  scholastic  degrees  that  would 
entitle  me  to  decent  pay  at  the  university — I  was 
merely  a  post-graduate  student,  with  the  compli- 
mentary title  of  "instructor."  I  had  offered  to 
spend  my  summer  collecting  specimens  for  the 
university  museum  at  a  wage  that  barely  paid  for 
my  traveling  expenses  and  supplies,  wholly  fail- 
ing to  consider  where  I  would  get  sufficient 
funds  to  continue  my  studies  the  following  year. 

Scarcity  of  money — no  one  can  feel  it  worse 
than  a  young  man  inflamed  with  a  passion  for 
scientific  research!  There  were  a  thousand 
things  I  wanted  to  do,  a  thousand  journeys  into 
unknown  lands  that  haunted  my  dreams  at  night, 
but  none  of  them  were  for  the  poor.  The  two 
hundred  dollars  Grover  Nealman  would  pay  me 
would  not  go  far,  yet  I  simply  couldn't  afford  to 


KASTLE   KRAGS  17 

pass  it  by.  Of  course  I  could  continue  my  work 
for  my  alma  mater  at  the  same  time. 

Yet  while  I  thought  of  these  things,  I  knew 
that  I  was  only  lying  to  myself.  They  were  sub- 
terfuges only,  excuses  to  my  own  conscience. 
The  instant  she  had  opened  her  lips  to  speak  I 
had  known  my  answer. 

To  refuse  meant  to  go  back  to  my  lonely  camp 
in  the  cypress.  I  hoped  I  wasn't  such  a  fool  as 
that.  To  accept  meant  three  weeks  at  Kastle 
Krags — and  daily  sight  of  this  same  lovely  face 
that  now  held  fast  my  eyes.  Could  there  be  any 
question  which  course  I  would  choose? 

"Go — I  should  say  I  will  go,"  I  told  her. 
"I'll  be  there  bright  and  early  to-morrow." 

I  thought  she  looked  pleased,  but  doubtless  I 
was  mistaken. 


CHAPTER    III 

IT  didn't  take  long  to  pack  my  few  belong- 
ings. At  nine  o'clock  the  following  morning  I 
broke  camp  and  walked  down  the  long  trail  to 
Kastle  Krags. 

No  wonder  the  sportsmen  liked  to  gather  at 
this  old  manor  house  by  the  sea.  It  represented 
the  best  type  of  southern  homes — low  and  ram- 
bling, old  gardens  and  courts,  wide  verandas  and 
stately  pillars.  It  was  an  immense  structure,  yet 
perfectly  framed  by  the  shore  and  the  lagoon 
and  the  glimpse  of  forest  opposite,  and  it  pre- 
sented an  entirely  cheerful  aspect  as  I  emerged 
from  the  dark  confinement  of  the  timber. 

It  was  a  surprising  thing  that  a  house  could 
be  cheerful  in  such  surroundings :  forest  and  gray 
shore  and  dark  blue-green  water.  The  house 
itself  was  gray  in  hue,  the  columns  snowy  white, 
the  roof  dark  green  and  blending  wonderfully 
with  the  emerald  water.  Flowers  made  a  riot  of 
color  between  the  structure  and  the  formal 
lawns. 

18 


KASTLE   KRAGS  19 

But  more  interesting  than  the  house  itself  was 
the  peculiar  physical  formation  of  its  setting. 
The  structure  had  been  erected  overlooking  a 
long  inlet  that  was  in  reality  nothing  less  than 
a  shallow  lagoon.  A  natural  sea-wall  stretched 
completely  across  the  neck  of  the  inlet,  cutting 
off  the  lagoon  from  the  open  sea.  There  are 
many  natural  sea-walls  along  the  Floridan  coast, 
built  mostly  of  limestone  or  coraline  rock,  but  I 
had  never  seen  one  so  perfect  and  unbroken. 
Stretching  across  the  mouth  of  the  lagoon  it 
made  a  formidable  barrier  that  not  even  the 
smallest  boat  could  pass. 

It  was  a  long  wall  of  white  crags  and  jagged 
rocks,  and  I  thought  it  likely  that  it  had  sug- 
gested the  name  of  the  estate.  It  was  plain, 
however,  that  the  wall  did  not  withstand  the 
march  of  the  tides.  The  tide  was  running  in 
as  I  drew  near,  and  the  waves  broke  fiercely  over 
and  against  the  barrier,  and  little  rivulets  and 
streams  of  water  were  evidently  pouring  through 
its  miniature  crevices.  The  house  was  built  two 
hundred  yards  from  the  shore  of  the  lagoon, 
perhaps  three  hundred  yards  from  the  wall,  and 
the  green  lawns  went  down  half-way  to  it.  Be- 
yond this — except  of  course  for  the  space  occu- 
pied by  the  lagoon  itself — stretched  the  gray, 
desolate  sand. 


20  KASTLE   KRAGS 

Beyond  the  wall  the  inlet  widened  rapidly, 
and  the  rolling  waves  gave  the  impression  of 
considerable  depth.  I  had  never  seen  a  more 
favorable  place  for  a  sportsman's  home.  Be- 
sides the  deep-sea  fishing  beyond  the  rock  wall, 
it  was  easy  to  believe  that  the  lagoon  itself  was 
the  home  of  countless  schools  of  such  hard-fight- 
ing game-fish  as  loved  such  craggy  seas.  The 
lagoon  was  fretful  andi  rough  from  the  flowing 
tide  at  that  moment,  offering  no  inducements  to 
a  boatman,  but  I  surmised  at  once  that  it  would 
be  still  as  a  lake  in  the  hours  that  the  tide 
ebbed.  The  shore  was  a  favorable  place  for  the 
swift-winged  shorebirds  that  all  sportsmen  love 
— plover  and  curlew  and  their  fellows.  And  the 
mossy,  darkling  forest,  teeming  with  turkey  and 
partridge,  stretched  just  behind. 

Yet  the  whole  effect  was  not  only  of  beauty. 
I  stood  still,  and  tried  to  puzzle  it  out.  The 
atmosphere  talked  of  in  great  country  houses  is 
more  often  imagined  than  really  discerned;  but 
if  such  a  thing  exists,  Kastle  Krags  was  literally 
steeped  in  it.  Like  Macbeth's,  the  castle  has  a 
pleasant  seat — and  yet  it  moved  you,  in  queer 
ways,  under  the  skin. 

I  am  not,  unfortunately,  a  particularly  sensi- 
tive man.  Working  from  the  ground  up,  I  have 
been  so  busy  preserving  the  keen  edges  of  my 


KASTLE   KRAGS  21 

senses  that  I  have  quite  neglected  my  sensibil- 
ities. I  couldn't  put  my  finger  on  the  source  of 
the  strange,  mental  image  that  the  place  in- 
voked; and  the  thing  irritated  and  disturbed  me. 
The  subject  wasn't  worth  a  busy  man's  time,  yet 
I  couldn't  leave  it  alone. 

The  house  was  not  different  from  a  hundred 
houses  scattered  through  the  south.  It  was 
larger  than  most  of  the  larger  colonial  homes, 
and  constructed  with  greater  artistry.  If  it  had 
any  atmosphere  at  all,  other  than  comfort  and 
beauty,  it  was  of  cheer.  Yet  I  didn't  feel  cheer- 
ful, and  I  didn't  know  why.  I  felt  even  more 
sobered  than  when  the  moss  of  the  cypress  trees 
swept  over  my  head.  But  soon  I  thought  I 
saw  the  explanation. 

The  image  of  desolation  and  eery  bleakness 
had  its  source  in  the  wide-stretching  sands,  the 
unforgetable  sea  beyond,  and  particularly  the 
inlet,  or  lagoon,  up  above  the  natural  dam  of 
stone.  The  rocks  that  enclosed  the  lagoon 
would  have  been  of  real  interest  to  a  geologist 
— to  me  they  were  merely  bleak  and  forbidding, 
craggy  and  gray  and  cold.  Unquestionably  they 
contained  many  caverns  and  crevices  that  would 
be  worth  exploring.  And  I  was  a  little  amazed 
at  the  fury  with  which  the  incoming  waves  beat 
against  and  over  the  rocky  barrier.  They  came 


22  KASTLE   KRAGS 

with   a  veritable   ferocity,    and  the   sea  beyond 
seemed  hardly  rough  enough  to  justify  them. 

Grover  Nealman  himself  met  me  when  I 
turned  on  to  the  level,  gravel  driveway.  There 
was  nothing  about  him  in  keeping  with  that 
desolate  driveway.  A  familiar  type,  he  looked 
the  gentleman  and  sportsman  that  he  was. 
Probably  the  man  was  forty-four  or  forty-five 
years  old,  but  he  was  not  the  type  that  yields 
readily  to  middle-age.  Nealman  unquestionably 
still  considered  himself  a  young  man,  and  he  be- 
lieved it  heartily  enough  to  convince  his  friends. 
Self-reliant,  inured  to  power  and  influence,  some- 
what aristocratic,  he  could  not  yield  himself  to 
the  admission  of  the  march  of  the  years.  He 
was  of  medium  height,  rather  thickly  built,  with 
round  face,  thick  nose,  and  rather  sensual  lips; 
but  his  eyes,  behind  his  tortoise-shell  glasses, 
were  friendly  and  spirited;  and  his  hand-clasp 
was  democratic  and  firm.  By  virtue  of  his  own 
pride  of  race  and  class  he  was  a  good  sports- 
man :  likely  a  crack  shot  and  an  expert  fisherman. 
Probably  a  man  that  drank  moderately,  was  still 
youthful  enough  to  enjoy  a  boyish  celebration, 
a  man  who  lived  well,  who  had  traveled  widely 
and  read  good  books,  and  who  could  carry  out 
the  traditions  of  a  distinguished  family — this 
was  Grover  Nealman,  master  of  Kastle  Krags. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  23 

I  didn't  suppose  for  a  moment  that  Nealman 
had  made  his  own  fortune.  There  were  no 
fighting  lines  in  his  face,  nor  cold  steel  of  con- 
flict in  his  eyes.  There  was  one  deep,  perpen- 
dicular line  between  his  eyes,  but  it  was  born  of 
worry,  not  battle.  The  man  was  moderately 
shrewd,  probably  able  to  take  care  of  his  in- 
vestments, yet  he  could  never  have  been  a  build- 
er, a  captain  of  industry.  He  dressed  like  a 
man  born  to  wealth,  well-fitting  white  flannels 
whose  English  tailoring  afforded  free  room  for 
arm  and  shoulder  movements;  a  silk  shirt  and 
soft  white  collar,  panama  hat  and  buckskin 
shoes. 

He  was  not  a  southerner.  The  first  words 
he  uttered  proved  that  fact. 

"So  you  are  Mr.  Killdare,"  he  said  easily. 
He  didn't  say  it  "Killdaih,"  as  he  would  had  he 
been  a  native  of  the  place.  "Come  with  me  into 
my  study.  I  can  tell  you  there  what  I've  got 
lined  up.  I'm  mighty  glad  you've  come." 

We  walked  through  the  great,  massive  ma- 
hogany door,  and  he  paused  to  introduce  me  to 
a  middle-aged  man  that  stood  in  the  doorway. 
"Florey,"  he  said,  kindly  and  easily,  "I  want 
you  to  meet  Mr.  Killdare." 

His  tone  alone  would  have  identified  the 
man's  station,  even  if  the  dark  garb  hadn't  told 


24  KASTLEKRAGS 

the  story  plainly.  Florey  was  unquestionably 
Nealman's  butler.  Nor  could  anyone  have  mis- 
taken his  walk  of  life,  in  any  street  of  any 
English-speaking  city.  He  was  the  kind  of  but- 
ler one  sees  upon  the  stage  but  rarely  in  a  home, 
the  kind  one  associates  with  old,  stately  English 
Homes  but  which  one  rarely  finds  in  fact — almost 
too  good  a  butler  to  be  true.  He  was  little  and 
subdued  and  gray,  gray  of  hair  and  face  and 
hands,  and  his  soft  voice,  his  irreproachable  atti- 
tude of  respect  and  deference  seemed  born  in 
him  by  twenty  generations  of  butlers.  He  said 
he  was  glad  to  know  me,  and  his  bony,  soft- 
skinned  hand  took  mine. 

I'm  afraid  I  stared  at  Florey.  I  had  lived 
too  long  in  the  forest:  the  staring  habit,  so  dis- 
concerting to  tenderfeet  on  their  first  acquain- 
tance with  the  mountain  people,  was  surely  upon 
me.  I  think  that  the  school  of  the  forest 
teaches,  first  of  all,  to  look  long  and  sharply 
while  you  have  a  chance.  The  naturalist  who 
follows  the  trail  of  wild  game,  even  the  sports- 
man knows  this  same  fact — for  the  wild  crea- 
tures are  incredibly  furtive  and  give  one  only  a 
second's  glimpse.  I  instinctively  tried  to  learn 
all  I  could  of  the  gray  old  servant  in  the  instant 
that  I  shook  his  hand. 

He  was  the  butler,   now  and  forever,   and  I 


25 

wondered  if,  beneath  that  gray  skin,  he  were 
really  human  at  all.  Did  he  know  human  pas- 
sion, human  ambition  and  desires:  sheltered  in 
his  master's  house,  was  he  set  apart  from  the 
lusts  and  the  madnesses,  the  calms  and  the 
storms,  the  triumphs  and  the  defeats  that  made 
up  the  lives  of  other  men?  Yet  his  gray,  rather 
dim  old  eyes  told  me  nothing.  There  were  no 
fires,  visible  to  me,  glowing  in  their  depths.  A 
human  clam — better  still,  a  gray  mole  that  lives 
out  his  life  in  darkness. 

From  him  we  passed  up  the  stairs  and  to  a 
big,  cool  study  that  apparently  joined  his  bed- 
room. There  were  desks  and  chairs  and  a 
letter  file.  Edith  Nealman  was  writing  at  the 
typewriter. 

If  I  had  ever  supposed  that  the  girl  had  taken 
the  position  of  her  uncle's  secretary  merely  as 
a  girlish  whim,  or  in  some  emergency  until  a 
permanent  secretary  could  be  secured,  I  was 
swiftly  disillusioned.  There  was  nothing  of  the 
amateur  in  the  way  her  supple  fingers  flew  over 
the  keys.  She  had  evidently  had  training  in  a 
business  college;  and  her  attitude  towards  Neal- 
man was  simply  that  of  a  secretary  towards  her 
employer.  She  leaned  back  as  if  waiting  for 
orders. 

"You  can  go,   if  you  like,   Edith,"  Nealman 


26  KASTLE    KRAGS 

told  her.  "I'm  going  to  talk  awhile  with  Kill- 
dare,  here,  and  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  work 
anyway." 

She  got  up ;  and  she  threw  me  a  smile  of  wel- 
come and  friendliness  as  she  walked  out  the 
study  door. 


CHAPTER    IV 

NEALMAN  had  me  take  a  chair,  then  seated 
himself  before  the  window  from  which  he  could 
overlook  the  lagoon.  "I  always  like  to  sit 
where  I  can  watch  it,"  he  told  me — rather  ear- 
nestly, I  thought.  "I  can't  see  much  of  it — just  a 
glimpse — but  that's  worth  while.  The  room 
I've  designated  for  your  use  has  even  a  better 
view.  You  can't  imagine,  Killdare,  until  you've 
lived  with  it,  how  really  marvelous  it  is — how 
many  colors  play  in  the  lagoon  itself,  and  in  the 
waves  as  they  break  over  the  Bridge " 

"The  Bridge " 

"That's  the  name  we've  given  to  the  natural 
rock  wall  that  cuts  off  the  lagoon — rather,  the 
inlet — from  the  open  sea,"  he  explained. 

"It's  one  of  the  most  interesting  natural  for- 
mations I've  ever  seen,"  I  told  him. 

"It  is,  isn't  it?"  He  spoke  with  genuine  en- 
thusiasm. "And  don't  the  crags  take  peculiar 
shapes  around  it?  You  see  it  makes  a  veritable 
salt-water  lake  out  of  all  this  end  of  the  inlet. 

27 


28  KASTLE   KRAGS 

But  Killdare — if  you  can  overlook  the  dreari- 
ness and  the  desolation  of  it  all,  it  certainly  is 
beautiful " 

I  nodded.  "With  a  creepy  kind  of  beauty," 
I  told  him.  "I  wish  some  great  artist  could 
come  here  and  paint  it.  But  it  would  take  a 
great  one — to  get  the  atmosphere.  I've  never 
seen  a  more  wonderful  place  for  a  distinguished 
home." 

It  was  rather  remarkable  how  pleased  he  was 
by  the  words — particularly  coming  from  a  hum- 
ble employee.  Evidently  Kastle  Krags  was 
close  to  his  heart.  His  face  glowed  and  his  eye 
kindled. 

"I'm  wild  about  it  myself,"  he  confessed. 
"My  friends,  wantj  to  know  why  I  bought  such  a 
place — miles  from  a  habitation — and  guy  me 
for  a  hermit,  and  all  that.  Once  they  see  the 
place,  and  its  devilish  fascination  gets  hold  of 
'em,  they  won't  want  to  leave." 

From  thence  the  talk  led  to  business,  and  he 
questioned  me  in  regard  to  the  game  and  fish  of 
the  region.  I  assured  him  that  his  friends 
would  have  sport  in  plenty,  that  I  knew  where 
to  lead  them  to  turkey  and  partridge,  and  that 
no  better  fishing  could  be  found  in  the  whole 
south  than  in  the  Ochakee  River.  He  seemed 
satisfied  with  my  knowledge  of  the  country;  and 


KASTLEKRAGS  29 

told  me  a  little  of  his  own  plans.  Just  as  Edith 
Nealman  had  told  me,  he  was  planning  a  week's 
fish  and  hunt  for  a  half  dozen  of  his  man 
friends,  beginning  a  fortnight  from  then.  They 
were  coming  a  long  way — so  he  wanted  to  give 
them  sport  of  the  best.  The  servant  problem 
had  been  easily  solved — he  had  recruited  from 
the  negro  section  of  the  nearest  city — but  until 
he  had  talked  with  my  friend,  Mr.  Todd,  he 
had  been  at  a  loss  as  to  where  he  could  procure 
a  suitable  guide. 

"I'd  like  to  have  a  guide  for  each  man,  if  I 
could,"  he  went  on,  "but  of  course  they  are  not 
to  be  found.  Besides,  only  a  small  part  of  the 
party  will  want  to  go  out  at  once.  Most  of 
them  will  be  content  to  hang  around  here,  drink- 
ing my  brandies  and  fishing  in  the  lagoon." 

"How  is  fishing  in  the  lagoon?"  I  asked. 

"The  best.  Sometimes  we  even  take  tarpon. 
All  kinds  of  rock  fish — and  they  fight  like  fiends. 
The  rocks  are  just  full  of  little  crevices  and 
caves,  and  I  suppose  the  fish  live  in  'em.  These 
same  crevices  are  the  source  of  one  of  the  most 
interesting  of  the  many  legends  connected  with 
this  house." 

It's  a  dull  man  that  doesn't  love  legends,  and 
I  felt  my  interest  stirring.  "There  are  some 
tales  here,,  eh?" 


30  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"Tales!  Man,  that's  one  of  the  reasons  I 
bought  the  place." 

Nealman  needed  no  further  urging?  Evi- 
dently the  old  stories  that  almost  invariably 
accumulate  about  such  an  ancient  and  famous 
manor-house  as  this,  had  the  greatest  fascina- 
tion for  him;  and  he  was  glad  of  the  chance  to 
narrate  them  to  any  listener.  He  lighted  a  cig- 
arette :  then  turned  to  me  with  glistening  eyes. 

"Of  course  I  don't  believe  them,"  he  began. 
"Don't  get  that  in  your  head  for  an  instant. 
All  these  old  houses  have  some  such  yarns.  But 
they  surely  do  lend  a  flavor  to  the  place — and 
I  wouldn't  have  them  disproved  for  thousands 
of  dollars.  And  one  of  them — the  one  I  just 
referred  to — surely  is  a  corker." 

He  straightened  in  his  chair,  and  spoke  more 
earnestly.  "Killdare,  you're  not  troubled  with 
a  too-active  imagination?" 

"I'll  take  a  chance  on  it,"  I  told  him. 

"I've  seen  a  few  men,  in  my  time,  that  I 
wouldn't  tell  such  a  yarn  to  for  love  nor  money 
— especially  when  they  are  doomed  to  stay 
around  here  for  a  few  weeks.  You  won't  be- 
lieve it,  but  some  men  are  so  nervous,  so  nat- 
urally credulous,  that  they'd  actually  have  some 
unpleasant  dreams  about  it.  But  I  consider  it 
one  of  the  finest  attractions  of  the  place. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  31 

"The  yarn's  very  simple.  About  1840,  a 
schooner,  sailing  under  the  Portuguese  flag, 
sailed  from  Rio  de  Janeiro.  Her  name  was  the 
Arganil,  she  had  a  mixed  cargo,  and  she  was 
bound  for  New  Orleans.  These  are  facts,  Kill- 
dare.  You  can  ascertain  them  any  time  from 
the  marine  records.  But  we  can't  go  much 
further. 

"Among  the  crew  were  two  brothers,  Jason 
by  name.  Legend  says  that  they  were  English- 
men, but  what  Englishmen  were  doing  on  a 
Portuguese  ship  I  can't  tell  you.  The  name, 
however,  might  easily  be  South-European — it 
appears,  you  remember,  in  Greek  mythology. 
Now  this  point  also  has  some  indications  of 
truth.  There  was  certainly  one  Jason,  at  least, 
shipped  as  boatswain — the  position  of  the  other 
is  considerably  in  doubt. 

"Now  we've  got  to  get  down  to  a  matter  of 
legend,  yet  with  some  substance  of  truth.  The 
story  goes  that  there  was  a  treasure  chest  on 
the  ship,  the  property  of  some  immensely  rich 
Brasilian,  and  that  it  contained  certain  trea- 
sures that  had  been  the  property  of  a  Portuguese 
prince  at  the  time  that  the  court  of  Portugal 
was  located  in  Rio  de  Janeiro.  This  was  from 
1808  to  1821 — breaking  up  in  a  revolution  just 
a  hundred  years  ago.  This  is  history,  as  you 


32  KASTLE    KRAGS 

know.  Just  what  was  the  nature  of  the  trea- 
sure no  one  seems  to  have  any  idea.  It  was  a 
rather  small  chest,  so  they  say,  bound  with 
iron,  and  not  particularly  heavy — but  it  was 
guarded  with  armed  men,  day  and  night.  Of 
course  the  prevailing  belief  is  that  it  contained 
simply  gold — the  same,  yellow,  deadly  stuff  that 
built  the  Armada  and  made  early  American 
history.  It  might  have  been  m  the  form  of 
cups  and  vessels,  beautiful  things  that  had  been 
stolen  from  early  heathen  temples — again  it 
might  have  been  jewels.  No  estimation  of  its 
value  was  ever  made,  as  far  as  I  know — except 
that,  like  all  unfound-treasures,  it  was  'incal- 
culable.' 

"You  can  believe  as  much  of  this  as  you  like. 
Gold,  however,  is  heavy  stuff — no  one  can  carry 
much  over  twenty  thousand  dollars  worth.  If 
the  chest  wasn't  really  very  heavy,  and  really 
was*  of  such  incalculable  value,  it  had  to  contain 
something  more  than  gold. 

"This  part  of  the  story  is  pretty  convincing. 
I've  investigated,  and  the  legends  contain  such 
a  wealth  of  detail  concerning  the  appearance 
of  the  chest,  how  it  was  guarded,  and  so  on,  and 
the  various  accounts  dovetail  so  perfectly  one 
with  another,  that  I  am  personally  convinced 
that  the  treasure  was  a  reality — at  least  that 


KASTLEKRAGS  33 

such  a  chest  existed  on  the  old  ship.  When 
you  get  into  the  contents  of  the  chest,  however, 
you  find  only  a  maze  of  conflicting  rumors.  To 
me  they  tend  to  make  the  story  as  a  whole  even 
more  interesting — and  I'll  confess  I'd  love  to 
know  what  was  in  that  chest. 

"Well,  the  Argaml  broke  to  pieces  off  the 
west  coast  of  Florida,  not  more  than  twenty 
miles  from  here.  That  fact  can  not  be  doubted. 
There  are  accounts  of  the  wreck  on  official 
record.  And  legend  has  it  that  through  Heaven 
knows  what  wickedness  and  bloodshed  and  cun- 
ning, the  two  Jason  brothers  not  only  managed 
to  get  off  in  the  stoutest  of  the  ship's  boats,  but 
that  they  carried  the  treasure  with  them. 

"If  there  were  any  other  members  of  the 
crew  in  the  boat  with  them  they  were  unques- 
tionably murdered.  Nothing  was  ever  heard  of 
them  again.  The  two  brothers  are  said  to  have 
landed  somewhere  close  to  this  lagoon. 

"But  naked  treasure  breeds  murder!  It  is  a 
strange  thing,  Kifldare,  but  the  naked,  yellow 
metal,  as  well  as  glittering  jewels,  gets  home  to 
human  wickedness  as  -nothing  else  in  the  world 
can.  If  that  chest  had  been  full  of  valuable 
securities,  even  paper  currency,  it  wouldn't  have 
left  such  a  red  trail  from  Rio  to  Florida.  Gold 
and  jewels  waken  a  fever  of  possession  out  of 


34  KASTLE   KRAGS 

all  proportion  to  their  actual  value.  When  they 
landed  on  the  shore  one  of  the  Jasons  neatly 
murdered  the  other  and  made  off  with  the  chest. 

"The  same  old  yarn — Cain  and  Abel,  Rom- 
ulus and  Remus.  Killdare,  did  you  know  that 
fratricide  is  shockingly  common?  There  are 
three  kinds  of  brothers,  and  the  Jasons  were 
simply  one  of  the  three  kinds.  Sometimes  you 
find  brothers  that  love  each  other  beyond  be- 
lief, with  a  self-sacrificing  devotion  that  is  beau- 
tiful to  see.  Then  you  find  the  great  mass  of 
brothers — liking  each  other  fairly  well,  loyal 
in  a  family  scrap,  fair  pals  but  much  closer  to 
other  pals  that  aren't  their  brothers.  Then  you 
come  to  this  third  class,  a  puzzle  to  psycholo- 
gists the  world  over!  Brothers  that  hate  each 
other  like  poison  snakes. 

"Why  is  it,  Killdare?  Jealousy?  A  survival 
from  the  beast?  These  were  the  kind  of  broth- 
ers that  go  through  life  bitter  and  hating  and  at 
swords'  points.  And  all  too  often  they  get  to 
the  killing  stage." 

"You  find  it  in  the  beast-world,  too,"  I  com- 
mented. "Look  at  the  case  of  the  wolves  and 
the  dogs.  They  are  blood-brothers,  drop  for 
drop — and  they  hate  each  other  with  a  fervor 
that  is  simply  blood-curdling." 

"True  enough.     I  remember  hearing  about  it. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  35 

Well,  one  of  the  Jasons — the  one  whose  cun- 
ning conceived  of  the  whole  wickedness  to  start 
with — killed  the  other,  disposed  of  his  body, 
and  then  through  some  unknown  series  of 
events,  concealed  the  treasure. 

"He  went  away  awhile,  the  old  wives  say — 
taking  a  small  portion  of  the  treasure  with  him. 
At  this  point  the  name  of  Jason  is  lost,  irre- 
mediably, in  the  mist  of  the  past  .  But  it  is  true 
that  some  two  years  later  a  seafaring  man,  one 
who  had  worn  earrings  and  who  cursed  wick- 
edly as  he  talked,  came  back  and  bought  a  great 
colonial  home  where  the  treasure  was  supposed 
to  have  been  concealed. 

"This  part  of  the  story  can  not  be  doubted. 
The  county  books  contain  records  of  the  sale, 
and  it's  written,  plain  as  day,  on  the  abstract. 
The  man  gave  his  name  as  Hendrickson. 

"Legend  has  it  that  this  Hendrickson  was 
no  one  but  Godfrey  Jason,  that  he  had  sold  and 
turned  into  cash  a  small  part  of  the  treasure, 
temporarily  evaded  his  pursuers,  and  had  bought 
the  big  manor  house  with  the  idea  of  living  in 
luxury  the  rest  of  his  life.  Incidentally,  he  was 
accompanied  by  a  Cuban  wife. 

"It  seemed,  however,  that  like  most  evil- 
doers, he  got  little  good  out  of  his  treasure. 
He  paid  only  a  small  amount  down  on  the 


36  KASTLE   KRAGS 

estate,  and  after  a  year  or  two  let  it  go  back  to 
the  original  owners.  He  went  away,  but  it 
doesn't  seem  likely  he  took  the  treasure  with 
him.  At  least  he  died  wretchedly  in  poverty 
some  months  later,  and  had  spent  no  large 
amount  of  money  in  between.  The  report  of 
his  death  can  be  found  in  the  records  of  the  city 
of  Tampa,  in  this  state. 

1  'Now  all  this  is  unquestionably  a  mixture  of 
truth  and  fact.  Unquestionably  there  is  a  vein 
of  truth  in  it;  and  I  don't  see  but  that  most  of 
it  is  fairly  credible.  But  the  rest  of  the  yarn  is 
simply  laughable. 

"I  tell  it  only  because  it  goes  with  the  rest — 
not  that  I  believe  one  word  of  it  myself.  After 
you  hear  what  it  is  you'll  wonder  I  ever  took 
the  trouble  to  tell  you  that  I  disbelieved  it.  It's 
just  the  sort  of  thing  imaginative  old  niggers 
make  up  to  tell  their  children.  And  of  course — 
the  niggers  on  the  place  believe  every  word 
of  it. 

"They  say  that  this  Jason — or  Hendrickson 
— put  a  guard  over  his  treasure.  He  was  a 
deep-sea  fisherman  at  one  time,  when  he  wasn't 
a  seaman,  with  considerable  acquaintance  with 
the  various  man-eating  monsters  of  the  deep.  It 
is  known  that  Hendrickson  did  some  queer  ex- 
ploring and  fishing  along  the  rocky  shores  be- 


KASTLEKRAGS  37 

yond  the  estate.  What  did  the  villainous  old 
pirate  do  but  catch  some  big  octopus — or  some 
other  such  terrible  ocean  creature — and  trans- 
planted him  to  the  lagoon  where  he  was  said 
to  have  concealed  the  treasure. 

"That's  all  there  is  to  it.  The  beast  is  sup- 
posed to  be  there  yet,  growing  bigger  and  fiercer 
and  more  terrible  year  by  year.  An  octopus  is 
supposed  to  live  indefinitely,  you  know.  Once 
in  awhile,  the  story  goes,  it  creeps  up  on  the 
rocky  shore  of  the  lagoon  and  grabs  off  a  col- 
ored man.  When  any  one  searches  around  for 
the  chest  he's  apt  to  meet  up  with  Mr.  Mon- 
ster !  Sure  proof  of  his  existence,  the  niggers 
say,  is  that  Mas'r  Somebody  or  other,  the  son 
of  one  of  the  subsequent  owners  of  the  estate, 
also  mysteriously  disappeared  and  has  never 
been  heard  of  since.  When  the  blacks  lose  one 
of  their  own  number  they  seem  to  regard  it  as 
a  mere  matter  of  course — but  when  'one  of  de 
white  folks'  is  taken,  it's  another  matter!  And 
of  course,  even  to  this  day,  you  can't  get  a 
colored  man  to  go  within  two  hundred  yards  of 
the  lagoon  at  night,  and  they  hate  to  approach 
it  even  in  the  daylight. 

"The  lagoon  where  the  chest  is  supposed  to 
be  hidden  is  the  one  just  outside  my  window,  cut 
off  from  the  sea  by  the  natural  rock  wall  you 


38  KASTLE   KRAGS 

just  saw.  The  big  crags  and  rocks  and  crevices 
are  supposed  to  conceal  his  ferociousness  the 
sea-monster,  growing  bigger  and  hungrier  and 
fiercer  every  day.  The  house  that  Jason — or 
Hendrickson — bought,  neglected,  and  let  return 
to  the  owners  is  the  one  you're  sitting  in,  right 
now." 


CHAPTER   V 

AFTER  Nealman  and  I  had  each  smoked  a 
cigarette,  I  thought  of  a  little  plan  that  might 
increase  his  guest's  interest  in  the  week's  shoot 
and  hunt.  He  had  been  right  when  he  said  that 
even  incredible  legends,  believed  by  no  one,  still 
add  flavor  to  the  country  manor.  I  didn't  see 
why  we  shouldn't  turn  them  into  account. 

"I've  got  an  idea,"  I  told  him,  "and  it  all 
depends  whether  or  not  you've  already  sent  the 
invitations  to  your  guests." 

"No,  I  haven't — just  haven't  got  around  to 
it,"  he  answered.  "All  I  was  going  to  do  was 
to  write  to  about  nine  or  ten  of  my  men  friends. 
I  don't  suppose  all  of  them  can  come." 

"Good.  I  thought  it  might  be  interesting  if 
we  worked  that  legend  into  the  invitation — just 
to  add  a  little  spice  to  the  fishing  and  hunting. 
It  might  serve  to  waken  a  little  extra  interest 
in  your  party.  Of  course — it  includes  poking 
fun  at  the  ferocious  Jason  and  his  treasure." 

"They'll  have  a  lot  more  fun  poked  at  them 
before  we're  done.  As  I  told  you — only  the 
colored  people  take  them  seriously  at  all." 

39 


40 


KASTLE   KRAGS 


I  took  out  my  fountain  pen,  found  a  scrap  of 
paper,  and  drew  something  like  this: 

GRAND  TREASURE  HUNT 

Vbu  e\re  (jerebw  in^ifed 

KA5T1E 


>  ^** 


As  my  only  drawing  experience  consisted  in 
portraying  specimens,  it  had  no  artistic  preten- 
sions whatever. 


KASTLEKRAGS  41 

He  seemed  pleased,  adopted  the  plan  in  an 
instant,  then  began  to  write  down  the  names  of 
his  guests  so  that  I  could  prepare  an  invitation 
for  each.  Most  of  them,  I  observed,  lived  in 
greet  cities  to  the  North,  New  York  and  Boston 
particularly,  and  one  or  two  of  the  men  were 
more  or  less  nationally  known.  The  first  half 
dozen  names  came  easy.  Then  he  paused, 
frowning. 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do  about  this  bird,"  he 
muttered,  as  much  to  himself  as  to  me.  "Kill- 
dare,  I  don't  suppose  you've  ever  heard  of  him 
—Major  Kenneth  Dell?" 

I  shook  my  head.     "Not  that  I  remember." 

"Well,  I  haven't  either — yet  I  suppose  he's  a 
good  sportsman.  In  the  last  few  weeks  he's  got 
close  to  my  best  friend,  Bill  Van  Hope,  and  Bill 
asked  me  to  ask  him  down  for  this  shoot.  Says 
he's  a  distinguished  man,  the  best  of  fellows, 
and  is  simply  wild  to  try  Floridan  game.  Oh, 
I'll  put  him  down.  If  Bill  recommends  him  he 
must  be  the  goods." 

He  completed  the  list  in  a  moment,  then  his 
duties  calling  him  elsewhere,  he  left  me  in  the 
study  to  prepare  the  invitations.  And  the  hour 
turned  out  fortunately  for  me,  after  all.  Think- 
ing that  the  room  was  empty,  Edith  Nealman 
came  back  to  her  desk. 


42  KASTLE   KRAGS 

All  the  gold  in  Jason's  chest  could  not 
have  bought  a  more  lovely  picture  than  she 
made,  standing  framed  in  the  doorway.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  spotless  cotton  middy-suit,  and 
the  red  scarf  at  her  throat  brought  out  to  per- 
fection the  light  in  her  eyes  and  the  high  color 
in  her  cheeks.  Then  she  came  in  and  inspected 
the  invitations. 

There  was  no  occasion  for  me  to  leave  at 
once.  We  talked  a  while,  on  everything  under 
the  sun,  and  every  minute  something  that  was 
like  delight  kept  growing  within  me.  She'd 
been  up  against  the  world,  this  girl  that  chat- 
tered so  gayly  in  the  big,  easy  office-chair.  She 
had  known  poverty,  a  veritable  struggle  for  ex- 
istence; yet  they  hadn't  hardened  her  in  the 
least.  No  one  I  had  ever  met  had  possessed  a 
sweeter,  truer  outlook,  an  unfeigned  friendliness 
and  comradeship  for  every  decent  thing  that 
lived.  Maybe  you'd  call  it  a  childish  simplicity, 
but  I  didn't  stop  to  consider  what  it  was.  I 
only  knew  that  she  was  the  prettiest  and  the 
sweetest  girl  I'd  ever  seen,  and  I  was  going  to 
spend  every  moment  possible  in  her  presence. 

Oh,  but  I  loved  to  hear  her  laugh!  I  kept 
my  brain  busy  thinking  up  things  to  say  to  her, 
that  might  waken  that  rippling  sound  of  silver 
bells!  I  liked  to  see  her  eyes  grow  serious,  and 
her  lips  half-pout  as  some  delightful,  fanciful 


KASTLEKRAGS  43 

thought  played  hide-and-seek  in  her  mind.  She 
had  imagination,  this  niece  of  Grover  Nealman. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  the  secret  of  her 
charm.  I  didn't  doubt  for  a  moment  but  that 
she  read  romantic  novels  by  the  score,  but  I,  for 
one,  wouldn't  hold  the  fact  against  her. 

We  talked  over  the  legend  of  Jason's  chest; 
and  I  was  a  little  surprised  at  her  devoted  in- 
terest in  it.  Evidently  the  savage  tale  had  gone 
straight  home  to  her  imagination.  Whether  she 
put  the  least  credence  in  it  I  couldn't  tell. 

It  came  about,  in  the  twilight  hour,  that  we 
walked  together  down  to  the  craggy  shore  of 
the  lagoon.  Then  we  stood  and  watched  the 
light  dying  on  the  blue-green  water. 

Once  more  the  tide  was  rolling  in.  The 
waves  beat  with  a  startling  fury  over  and 
against  the  rock  wall,  and  in  the  half-light  the 
white  stones  looked  like  the  foam-covered  fangs 
of  a  mighty  sea-monster,  raging  at  our  instru- 
sion.  The  water  swept  through  the  little  crev- 
ices in  the  wall,  and  the  cool  spray,  refreshing 
after  the  tropic  day,  swept  against  our  faces. 

The  gray  sand  stretched  down  to  the  desolate 
sea.  A  plover  uttered  his  disconsolate,  wailing 
cry  far  out  to  sea.  Some  dark  heron  or  bittern 
rose  croaking  from  beside  the  lagoon,  then 
flapped  awkwardly  away.  I  felt  the  girl's  hand 
on  my  arm  as  she  drew  closer  to  my  side. 


44  KASTLE   KRAGS 

A  worthy  place — this  manor  house  of  Neal- 
man.  Vague  thoughts,  not  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  ordered  dimensions  of  life,  had  hold  of 
my  mind.  Presently  the  girl's  grip  tightened, 
and  she  pointed  toward  the  lagoon. 

I  saw  her  face  before  I  followed  her  gesture. 
I  didn't  get  the  idea  that  she  was  frightened. 
Rather  she  was  smiling,  quietly,  and  her  eyes 
glistened. 

Seventy  yards  out,  and  perhaps  fifteen  yards 
back  from  the  Bridge,  great  bubbles  were  burst- 
ing upward  through  the  blue-green  troubled 
waters.  Some  mysterious  action  of  the  currents, 
stirred  by  the  tides,  was  the  unquestioned  cause; 
yet  both  of  us  were  stirred  by  the  same  fancy. 
It  was  as  if  some  great,  air-breathing  sea-mon- 
ster was  exhaling  beneath  the  waves. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  next  two  weeks  sped  by  as  if  with  one 
rise  and  fall  of  the  tides.  I  spent  the  time  in 
locating  the  various  fields  of  game:  the  tall 
holly-trees  where  the  wild  turkeys  roosted,  the 
sloughs  where  the  bass  were  gamest,  and  marked 
down  the  cover  of  the  partridge.  In  the  mean- 
time I  collected  specimens  for  the  university. 

It  came  about  that  I  didn't  always  go  out 
alone.  The  best  time  of  all  to  study  wild-life  is 
in  late  twilight  and  the  first  hours  of  dawn — 
and  at  such  times  Edith  was  unemployed. 
Many  the  still,  late  evenings  when  we  stood 
together  on  the  shore  and  watched  the  curlews 
in  their  strange,  aerial  minuet  that  no  naturalist 
has  even  been  able  to  explain;  many  the  dewey 
morning  that  we  watched  the  first  sun's  rays 
probe  through  the  mossy  forest.  She  had  an 
instinctive  love  for  the  outdoors,  and  her  agile 
young  body  had  seemingly  fibers  of  steel.  At 
least  she  could  follow  me  wherever  I  wanted 
to  go. 

Once  we  came  upon  the  Floridan  deer,  feed- 
ing in  a  natural  woods-meadow,  and  once  a 

45 


46  KASTLE   KRAGS 

gigantic  manatee,  the  most  rare  of  large  Amer- 
ican mammals,  flopped  in  the  mud  of  the  Ocha- 
kee  River.  We  knew  that  incredible  confusion 
and  bustle  made  by  the  wild  turkeys  when  they 
flew  to  'the  tree-tops  to  roost;  and  she  learned 
to  whistle  the  partridge  out  from  their  thickets. 

Of  course  we  developed  a  fine  companionship. 
I  learned  of  her  early  life,  a  struggle  against 
poverty  that  had  been  about  to  overwhelm  her 
when  her  uncle  had  come  to  her  aid;  and  pres- 
ently I  was  telling  her  all  of  my  own  dreams 
and  ambitions.  She  was  wholly  sympathetic 
with  my  aim  to  continue  my  university  work  for 
a  higher  degree;  then  to  spend  my  life  in  scien- 
tific research.  I  described  some  of  the  expedi- 
tions that  I  had  in  mind  but  which  seemed  so 
impossible  of  fulfillment — the  exploration  of 
the  great  "back  country"  of  Borneo,  a  journey 
across  that  mysterious  island,  Sumatra,  the  pene- 
tration of  certain  unknown  realms  of  Tibet. 

"But  they  take  thousands  of  dollars — and  I 
haven't  got  'em,"  I  told  her  quietly. 

She  looked  out  to  sea  a  long  time.  "I  wish 
I  could  find  Jason's  treasure  for  you,"  she  an- 
swered at  last. 

I  was  used  to  Edith's  humor,  and  I  looked  up 
expecting  to  see  the  familiar  laughter  in  her 
eyes.  But  the  luster  in  those  deep,  blue  orbs 


KASTLEKRAGS  47 

was  not  that  of  mirth.  Fancies  as  beautiful  as 
she  was  herself  were  sweeping  her  away.  .  .  . 

Most  of  the  guests  arrived  on  the  same  train 
at  the  little  town  of  Ochakee,  and  motored  over 
to  Kastle  Krags.  A  half  dozen  in  all  had  ac- 
cepted Nealman's  invitation.  I  saw  them  when 
they  got  out  of  their  cars. 

Of  course  I  straightened  their  names  out 
later.  At  the  time  I  only  studied  their  faces — 
just  as  I'd  study  a  new  specimen,  found  in  the 
forest.  And  when  Edith  and  I  compared  notes 
afterward  we  found  that  our  first  impression 
was  the  same — that  all  six  were  strikingly  simi- 
lar in  type. 

They  might  just  as  well  have  been  brothers, 
chips  off  the  same  block.  When  Nealman  stood 
among  them  it  seemed  as  if  he  might  change 
names  with  any  one  of  them,  and  hardly  any 
one  could  tell  the  difference.  There  was  noth- 
ing distinguishing  about  their  clothes — all  were 
well-dressed,  either  in  white  or  tweeds;  their 
skins  had  that  healthy  firmness  and  good  color 
that  is  seen  so  often  in  men  that  are  free  from 
financial  worry;  their  hair  was  cut  alike;  their 
linen  was  similarly  immaculate;  their  accent  was 
practically  the  same.  Finally  they  were  about 
the  same  age — none  of  them  very  young,  none 
further  than  the  first  phases  of  middle-age. 


48  KASTLEKRAGS 

Lemuel  Marten,  was  of  course  the  most  dis- 
tinguished man  in  the  party.  Born  rich,  he  had 
pushed  his  father's  enterprises  into  many  lands 
and  across  distant  seas,  and  his  name  was 
known,  more  or  less,  to  all  financiers  in  the 
nation.  His  face  was  perhaps  firmer  than  the 
rest — his  voice  was  more  commanding  and  in- 
sistent. He  was,  perhaps,  fifty  years  of  age, 
stoutly  built,  with  crinkling  black  hair  and  vivid, 
gray  eyes.  From  time  to  time  he  stroked  ner- 
vously a  trim,  perfectly  kept  iron-gray  mustache. 

Hal  Fargo  had  been  a  polo-player  in  his  day. 
Certain  litheness  and  suppleness  of  motion  still 
lingered  in  his  body.  His  face  was  darkly 
brown,  and  white  teeth  gleamed  pleasantly  when 
he  spoke.  A  pronounced  bald  spot  was  the  only 
clew  of  advancing  years.  He  was  of  medium 
height,  slender,  evidently  a  man  of  great  per- 
sonal magnetism  and  charm. 

Joe  Nopp  was  quite  opposite,  physically — 
rather  portly,  perhaps  less  dignified  than  most 
of  his  friends.  I  put  down  Nopp  as  a  dead 
shot,  and  later  I  found  I  had  guessed  right. 
For  all  his  plump,  florid  cheeks  and  his  thick, 
white  hands,  he  had  an  eye  true  as  a  surveyor's 
instrument,  nerves  cold  and  strong  as  a  steel 
chain.  He  was  a  man  to  be  relied  upon  in  a 


KASTLE   KRAGS  49 

crisis.  And  both  Edith  and  I  liked  him  better 
than  any  of  the  others. 

Lucius  Pescini  was  an  aristocrat  of  the  ac- 
cepted type — slender,  tall,  unmistakably  distin- 
guished. His  hair  was  such  a  dark  shade  of 
brown  that  it  invariably  passed  as  black,  he  had 
eyes  no  less  dark,  sparkling  under  dark  brows, 
and  his  small  mustache  and  perfectly  trimmed 
beard  was  in  vivid  contrast  to  a  rather  pale 
skin. 

Of  Major  Kenneth  Dell  I  had  never  heard.  He 
had  been  an  officer  in  the  late  war,  and  now  he 
was  Bill  Van  Hope's  friend,  although  not  yet 
acquainted  with  Nealman.  The  two  men  met 
cordially,  and  Van  Hope  stood  above  them,  the 
tallest  man  in  the  company  by  far,  beaming 
friendship  upon  them  both.  Dell  was  of  me- 
dium size,  sturdily  built,  garbed  with  exception- 
ally good  taste  in  imported  flannels.  He  also 
had  gray,  vivid  eyes,  under  rather  fine  brows, 
gray  hair  perfectly  cut,  a  slow  smile  and  quiet 
ways.  Solely  because  he  was  a  man  of  endless 
patience  I  expected  him  to  distinguish  himself 
with  rod  and  reel. 

Bill  Van  Hope,  Nealman's  friend  of  whom  I 
had  heard  so  much,  was  not  only  tall,  but  broad 
and  powerful.  He  had  kind  eyes  and  a  happy 


50  KASTLE   KRAGS 

smile — altogether  as  good  a  type  of  millionaire- 
sportsmen  as  any  one  would  care  to  know. 
Nealman  introduced  him  to  me,  and  his  hand- 
shake was  firm  and  cordial. 

Nealman  took  them  all  into  the  great  manor 
house:  I  went  with  Nealman's  chauffeur  to  see 
about  the  handling  of  their  luggage.  This  was  at 
half-past  four  of  a  sunlit  day  in  September.  I 
didn't  see  any  of  the  guests  again  until  just  be- 
fore the  dinner  hour,  when  a  matter  of  a  broken 
fly-tip  had  brought  me  into  the  manor  house. 
Thereupon  occurred  one  of  a  series  of  incidents 
that  made  my  stay  at  Kastle  Krags  the  most 
momentous  three  weeks  of  my  life. 

It  was  only  a  little  thing — this  experience  in 
Nealman's  study.  But  coming  events  cast  their 
shadows  before — and  certainly  it  was  a  shadow, 
dim  and  inscrutable  though  it  was,  of  what  the 
night  held  in  store.  I  had  passed  Florey  the 
butler,  gray  and  sphynx-like  in  the  hallway, 
spoke  to  him  as  ever,  and  turned  through  the 
library  door.  And  my  first  impression  was  that 
some  other  guest  had  arrived  in  my  absence. 

A  man  was  standing,  smoking,  by  the  window. 
I  supposed  at  once  that  he  was  an  absolute 
stranger.  There  was  not  a  single  familiar  image, 
not  the  least  impulse  to  my  memory.  I  started 
to  speak,  and  beg  his  pardon,  and  inquire  for 


KASTLE   KRAGS  51 

Nealman.  But  the  words  didn't  come  out.  I 
was  suddenly  and  inexplicably  startled  into 
silence. 

It  is  the  rare  man  who  can  analyze  his  own 
mental  processes.  Of  all  the  sensations  that 
throng  the  human  mind  there  is  none  so  lawless, 
so  sporadic  in  its  comings  and  departure,  so  ut- 
terly illogical  as  fear — and  great  surprise  is  only 
a  sister  of  fear.  I  can't  explain  why  I  was 
startled.  There  was  no  reason  whatever  for 
being  so.  I  must  go  further — I  was  not  only 
startled,  but  shaken  too.  It  has  come  about 
that  through  the  exigencies  of  the  hunting  trail 
I  have  been  obliged  to  face  a  charging  jaguar — 
in  a  jungle  of  Western  Mexico — yet  with  nerves 
holding  true.  My  nerves  didn't  hold  true 
now — and  I  couldn't  tell  why.  They  jumped  un- 
necessarily and  quivered  under  the  skin. 

I  did  know  the  man  beside  the  window  after 
all.  He  was  Major  Kenneth  Dell  that  I  had 
observed  particularly  closely  —  due  to  having 
heard  of  him  before — when  he  had  first  dis- 
mounted from  the  car.  The  thing  that  startled 
me  was  that  in  the  hour  and  a  half  or  so  since 
I  had  seen  him  his  appearance  had  undergone 
an  amazing  change. 

It  took  several  long  seconds  to  win  back  some 
measure  of  common  sense.  Then  I  knew  that, 


52  KASTLE   KRAGS 

through  some  trick  of  nerves,  I  had  merely  at- 
tached a  thousand  times  too  much  importance  to 
a  wholly  trivial  incident.  In  all  probability  the 
change  in  Dell's  appearance  was  simply  an  effect 
of  light  and  shadow,  wrought  by  the  window  in 
front  of  which  he  stood. 

But  for  the  instant  his  face  simply  had  not 
seemed  his  own.  Its  color  had  been  gone — indeed 
it  had  seemed  absolutely  bloodless.  His  eyes 
had  been  vivid  holes  in  his  white  face,  his  fea- 
tures were  drawn  out  of  all  semblance  to  his 
own,  the  facial  lines  were  graven  deep.  His 
lips  looked  loose,  as  with  one  whose  muscle- 
control  is  breaking. 

But  my  impression  had  only  an  instant's  life. 
Either  the  man  drew  himself  together  at  my 
stare,  or  my  own  vision  got  back  to  normal.  He 
was  himself  again  —  the  same,  suave,  genial 
sportsman  I  had  seen  dismount  from  the  car. 
He  answered  my  inquiry,  and  I  turned  through 
the  library  door. 

If  I  had  seen  true,  there  could  be  but  one 
explanation:  that  Major  Dell  had  undergone 
some  violent  nervous  shock  since  he  had  entered 
the  door  of  the  manor  house  of  Kastle  Krags. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AFTER  the  dinner  hour  Nealman  came  for  me, 
in  the  room  just  off  the  hall  from  his  own  that 
he  had  designated  for  my  use.  I'd  never  seen 
him  in  quite  so  gay  a  humor.  His  eyes  sparkled; 
happiness  rippled  in  his  voice.  His  tone  was 
more  companionable  too,  lacking  that  faint  but 
unmistakable  air  of  patronage  it  had  always 
previously  held.  He  had  never  forgotten,  until 
now,  that  he  was  the  employer,  I  the  employee. 
Now  his  accent  and  manner  was  one  of  equality, 
and  he  addressed  me  much  as  he  had  addressed 
his  wealthy  guests. 

He  had  been  drinking;  but  he  was  not  in  the 
least  intoxicated.  Perhaps  he  had  been  stimu- 
lated, very  slightly.  He  wore  a  dinner  coat  with 
white  trousers. 

"Killdare,  I  want  you  to  come  downstairs," 
he  said.  "Some  of  my  friends  want  to  talk  to 
you  about  shootin'  and  fishin'.  They're  keen  to 
know  what  their  prospects  are." 

"I'd  like  to,"  I  answered.  "But  I'll  have  to 
come  as  I  am.  I  haven't  a  dinner  coat " 

53 


54  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"Of  course  come  as  you  are." 

His  arm  touched  mine,  and  he  headed  me 
down  the  hallway  to  the  stairs.  Then  we  walked 
side  by  side  down  the  big,  wide  stairway  to  the 
big  living-room. 

Already  I  heard  the  sound  of  the  guests' 
laughter.  As  I  went  further  the  hall  seemed 
simply  ringing  with  it.  There  could  be  no 
further  doubt  of  the  success  of  Nealman's  party. 
Evidently  his  distinguished  guests  had  thrown  all 
dignity  to  the  winds,  entering  full  into  the  spirit 
of  play. 

The  glimpse  of  the  big  living-room  only  veri- 
fied this  first  impression.  The  guests  were  evi- 
dently in  that  wonderful  mood  of  merriment  that 
is  the  delight  and  ambition  of  all  hosts,  but 
which  is  so  rarely  obtained.  Most  men  know  the 
doubtful  temper  of  a  mob.  Few  had  failed  to 
observe  that  the  same  psychology  extends  to  the 
simplest  social  gatherings.  How  often  stiffness 
and  formality  haunt  the  drawing-room  or  dining- 
table,  where  only  merriment  should  rule !  How 
many  times  the  social  spirit  wholly  fails  to  mani- 
fest itself.  To-night,  evidently,  conditions  were 
just  right,  and  hilarity  ruled  at  Kastle  Krags. 

As  I  came  in  Joe  Nopp — the  portly  man  with 
the  clear,  gray  eyes — was  telling  some  sort  of 
an  anecdote,  and  his  listeners  were  simply  shout- 


KASTLE   KRAGS  55 

ing  with  laughter.  Major  Dell  and  Bill  Van 
Hope  were  shooting  craps  on  the  floor,  ten 
cents  a  throw,  carrying  on  a  ridiculous  conversa- 
tion with  the  dice.  A  big  phonograph  was  shout- 
ing a  negro  song  from  the  corner. 

There  was  a  slight  lull,  however,  when  Neal- 
man  and  I  came  in.  Van  Hope  spoke  to  me 
first — he  was  the  only  one  of  the  guests  I 
had  met — and  the  others  turned  toward  me 
with  the  good  manners  of  their  kind.  In  a 
moment  Nealman  had  introduced  me  to  Joe 
Nopp's  listeners  and,  an  instant  later,  to  Major 
Dell. 

"Mr.  Killdare  is  down  here  doing  some  work 
in  zoology  for  his  university,"  Nealman  ex- 
plained, "and  he's  agreed  to  show  you  chaps 
where  to  find  game  and  fish.  He  knows  this 
country  from  A  to  Izzard." 

I  held  the  center  of  the  floor,  for  a  while, 
as  I  answered  their  questions;  and  I  can  say 
truly  I  had  never  met,  on  the  whole,  a  better- 
bred  and  more  friendly  company  of  men.  They 
wanted  to  know  all  about  the  game  in  the 
region,  what  flies  or  lures  the  bass  were  taking, 
as  to  the  prevalence  of  diamond-backs,  and  if 
the  tarpon  were  striking  beyond  the  natural  rock 
wall.  In  their  eagerness  they  were  like  boys. 

"You'll  talk  better  with  a  shot  of  something 


56  KASTLE   KRAGS 

good,"  Nealman  told  me  at  last,  producing  a 
quart  bottle.  "Have  a  little  Cuban  cheer." 

The  bottle  contained  old  Scotch,  and  its  ap- 
pearance put  an  end  to  all  serious  discussion. 
From  thence  on  the  mood  of  the  gathering  was 
ever  lighter,  ever  happier;  and  I  merely  sat  and 
looked  on. 

"The  question  ain't"  Hal  Fargo  said  of  me 
with  considerable  emphasis,  "whether  he  knows 
where  the  turkeys  are,  but  whether  or  not  he 
knows  his  college  song!" 

I  pretended  ignorance,  but  soon  Van  Hope 
and  Nealman  were  singing  "A  Cow's  Best 
Friend"  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  while  Nopp 
tried  to  drown  them  out  with  "Fill  'em  up  for 
Williams." 

Even  now  it  could  not  be  said  that  any  of 
the  group  were  intoxicated.  Fargo  was  cer- 
tainly the  nearest;  his  cheeks  were  flushed  and  his 
speech  had  that  reckless  accent  that  goes  so 
often  with  the  first  stages  of  drunkenness.  The 
distinguished  Pescini  was  only  animated  and 
fanciful,  Van  Hope  and  Marten  perhaps 
slightly  stimulated.  For  all  the  charm  of  their 
conversation  I  couldn't  see  that  Nopp  or  Major 
Dell  were  receiving  the  slightest  exhilaration 
from  their  drinks. 

But    the    spirit    of    revelry   was   ever   higher. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  57 

These  men  were  on  a  holiday,  they  had  left 
their  business  cares  a  thousand  miles  to  the 
north,  mostly  they  were  tried  companions. 
None  of  us  was  aware  of  the  passing  of  time. 
I  saw  at  once  that  my  presence  was  not  ob- 
jectionable to  the  party,  so  I  lingered  long  after 
the  purpose  for  which  I  had  been  brought 
among  them  had  been  fulfilled — purely  for  the 
sake  of  entertainment.  I  had  never  seen  a 
frolic  of  millionaires  before,  and  needless  to 
say  I  enjoyed  every  moment  of  it. 

In  the  later  hours  of  night  the  revellers 
ranged  further  over  the  house.  Joe  Nopp  was 
in  the  billiard  room  exhibiting  fancy  shots  and 
pretending  to  receive  the  plaudits  of  a  great 
multitude;  Pescini  and  Van  Hope  were  in  con- 
versation on  the  veranda,  and  Fargo  was  wholly 
absent  and  unaccounted  for.  I  had  missed 
Marten,  the  financier,  for  a  moment;  but  his 
reappearance  was  the  signal  for  a  fresh  rush 
to  the  living-room. 

The  whole  party  met  him  with  a  yell.  In 
the  few  moments  of  his  absence  he  had  wrought 
a  startling  change  in  his  appearance.  Over 
his  shoulders  he  had  thrown  a  gayly  colored 
Indian  blanket,  completely  hiding  his  trim  dinner 
coat.  He  had  tied  a  red  cloth  over  his  head 
and  waxed  the  points  of  his  iron-gray  mustache 


58  KASTLE   KRAGS 

until  they  stood  stiff  and  erect,  giving  an  appear- 
ance of  mock  ferocity  to  his  face.  A  silver 
key-ring  and  his  own  gold  signet  dangled  from  his 
ears,  tied  on  with  invisible  black  thread.  And 
to  cap  the  climax  he  carried  a  long,  wicked- 
looking  carving-knife  between  his  teeth. 

Of  course  he  was  Godfrey  Jason  himself — 
the  same  character  I  had  portrayed  in  the  in- 
vitations. Fargo  made  him  do  a  Spanish  dance 
to  the  clang  of  an  invisible  tambourine.  " 

Some  of  the  gathering  scattered  out  again, 
after  his  dramatic  appearance,  drifting  off  on 
various  enterprises  and  as  the  hour  neared  mid- 
night only  four  of  us  were  left  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Marten  stood  in  the  center,  still  in  his 
ridiculous  costume.  Van  Hope,  Nealman,  Pes- 
cini  and  myself  were  grouped  about  him.  And 
it  might  have  been  that  in  the  song  that  followed 
Pescini  too  slipped  away.  I  know  that  I  didn't 
see  him  immediately  thereafter. 

With  a  little  urging  Marten  was  induced  to 
sing  Samuel  Hall — a  stirring  old  ballad  that 
quite  fitted  his  costume.  He  had  a  pleasant  bari- 
tone, he  sung  the  song  with  indescribable  spirit 
and  enthusiasm,  and  it  was  decidedly  worth 
hearing.  Indeed  it  was  the  very  peak  of  the 
evening — a  moment  that  to  the  assembled  guests 


KASTLE   KRAGS  59 

must    have    almost    paid    them    for    the    long 
journey. 

"For  I  shot  a  man  in  bed,  man  in  bed — 
For  I  shot  a  man  in  bed,  and  I  left  him 

there  for  dead, 

With  a  bullet  through  his  head — 
Damn  your  eyes!" 

But  the  song  halted  abruptly.  Whether  he 
was  at  the  middle  of  the  verse,  a  pause  after 
a  stanza,  or  even  in  the  middle  of  a  chord  I 
do  not  know.  On  this  point  no  one  will  ever 
have  exact  knowledge.  Marten  stopped  singing 
because  something  screamed,  shrilly  and  horri- 
bly, out  toward  the  lagoon. 

The  picture  that  followed  is  like  a  photo- 
graph, printed  indelibly  on  my  mind.  Marten 
paused,  his  lips  half  open,  a  strange,  blank  look 
of  amazement  on  his  face.  Nealman  stared  at 
me  like  a  witless  man,  but  I  saw  by  his  look 
that  he  was  groping  for  an  explanation.  Van 
Hope  stood  peculiarly  braced,  his  heavy  hands 
open,  beads  of  perspiration  on  his  temples. 
Whether  Pescini  was  still  with  us  I  do  not 
know.  I  tried  to  remember  later,  but  without 
ever  coming  to  a  conclusion.  He  had  been, 
standing  behind  me,  at  first,  so  I  couldn't  have 


60  KASTLE   KRAGS 

seen  him  anyway.  I  believed,  however,  without 
knowing  why,  that  he  walked  into  the  hall  at 
the  beginning  of  the  song. 

The  sound  we  had  heard,  so  sharp  and  clear 
out  of  the  night,  so  penetrating  above  the  mock- 
ferocious  words  of  the  song,  was  utterly  beyond 
the  ken  of  all  of  us.  It  was  a  living  voice;  be- 
yond that  no  definite  analysis  could  be  made. 
Sounds  do  not  imprint  themselves  so  deeply  upon 
the  memory  as  do  visual  images,  yet  the  remem- 
brance of  it,  in  all  its  overtones  and  gradations, 
is  still  inordinately  vivid;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
but  that  such  is  the  case  with  every  man  that 
heard  it. 

It  was  a  high,  rather  sharp,  full-lunged  utter- 
ance, not  in  the  least  subdued.  It  had  the 
unrestrained,  unguarded  tone  of  an  instinctive 
utterance,  rather  than  a  conscious  one — a  cry 
that  leaped  to  the  lips  in  some  great  extremity 
or  crisis.  Yet  it  went  further.  Every  man  of 
us  that  heard  it  felt  instinctively  that  its  tone 
was  of  fear*  and  agony  unimagined,  beyond  the 
pale  of  our  ordered  lives. 

"My  God,  what's  that?"  Van  Hope  asked. 
Van  Hope  was  the  type  of  man  that  yields 
quickly  to  his  impulses. 

None  of  us  answered  him  for  a  moment. 
Then  Nealman  turned,  rather  slowly.  "It 


KASTLE   KRAGS  61 

sounded  like  the  devil,  didn't  it?"  he  said.  "But 
it  likely  wasn't  anything.  I've  heard  some 
devilish  cries  in  the  couple  of  weeks  I've  been 
here — bitterns  and  owls  and  things  like  that. 
Might  have  been  a  panther  in  the  woods." 

Marten  smiled  slowly,  rather  contemptuously. 
"You'll  have  to  do  better  than  that,  Nealman. 
That  wasn't  a  panther.  Also — it  wasn't  an  owl. 
We'd  better  investigate." 

"Yes — I  think  we  had  better.  But  you  don't 
know  what  hellish  sounds  some  of  these  swamp- 
creatures  can  make.  We'll  all  be  laughing  in 
a  minute." 

His  tone  was  rather  ragged,  for  all  his  re- 
assuring words,  and  we  knew  he  was  as  shaken 
as  the  rest  of  us.  A  door  opened  into  the 
hall — evidently  some  of  the  other  guests  were 
already  seeking  the  explanation  of  that  fearful 
sound. 

It  seemed  to  all  of  us  that  hardly  an  instant 
had  elapsed  since  the  sound.  Indeed  it  still 
rang  in  our  ears.  All  that  had  been  said  had 
scarcely  taken  a  breath.  We  rushed  out,  seem- 
ingly at  once,  into  the  velvet  darkness.  The 
moon  was  incredibly  vivid  in  the  sky. 

We  passed  into  a  rose-garden,  under  great, 
arching  trees,  and  now  we  could  see  the  silver 


62  KASTLEKRAGS 

glint  of  the  moon  on  the  lagoon.  The  tide 
was  going  out  and  the  waters  lay  like  glass. 

Through  the  rifts  in  the  trees  we  could  see 
further — the  stretching  sands,  gray  in  the  moon- 
light, the  blue-black  mysterious  seas  beyond. 
What  forms  the  crags  took,  in  that  eerie  light! 
There  was  little  of  reality  left  about  them. 

We  heard  some  one  pushing  through  the 
shrubbery  ahead  of  us,  and  he  stopped  for  us 
to  come  up.  I  recognized  the  dark  beard  and 
mustache  of  Pescini.  "What  was  it?"  he  asked. 
Excitement  had  brought  out  a  deep-buried  accent, 
native  to  some  South  European  land.  "Was  it 
further  on?" 

"I  think  so,"  Nealman  answered.  "Down  by 
the  lagoon." 

He  joined  us,  and  we  pushed  on,  but  we 
spread  out  as  we  neared  the  shore  of  the 
lagoon.  Some  one's  shadow  whipped  by  me, 
and  I  turned  to  find  Major  Dell. 

The  man  was  severely  shaken.  "My  God, 
wasn't  that  awful!"  he  exclaimed.  "Who  is  it 
— you,  Killdare?"  He  stared  into  my  face,  and 
his  own  looked  white  and  masque-like  in  the 
moonlight.  Then  all  of  us  began  to  search, 
up  and  down  the  shore  of  the  lagoon. 

In  the  moonlight  our  shadows  leaped,  met 
one  another,  blended  and  raced  away;  and  our* 


KASTLE   KRAGS  63 

voices  rang  strangely  as  we  called  back  and 
forth.  But  the  search  was  not  long.  Van  Hope 
suddenly  exclaimed  sharply — an  audible  inhala- 
tion of  breath,  rather  than  an  oath — and  we  saw 
him  bending  over,  only  his  head  and  shoulders 
revealed  in  the  moonlight.  He  stood  just  beside 
the  craggy  margin  of  the  lagoon. 

"What  is  it?"  some  one  asked  him,  out  of 
the  gloom. 

"Come  here  and  see,"  Van  Hope  replied — 
rather  quietly,  I  thought.  In  a  moment  we  had 
formed  a  little  circle. 

A  dead  man  lay  at  our  feet,  mostly  obscured 
in  the  shadow  of  the  crags  of  the  lagoon.  We 
simply  stood  in  silence,  looking  down.  We 
knew  that  he  was  dead  just  as  surely  as  we 
knew  that  we  ourselves  were  living  men.  It 
was  not  that  the  light  was  good;  that  there 
was  scarcely  any  light  at  all.  We  knew  it,  I 
suppose,  from  the  huddled  position  of  his  form. 

Joe  Nopp  scratched  a  match.  He  held  it 
perfectly  steadily.  The  first  thing  it  showed  to 
me  was  a  gray  face  and  gray  hair,  and  a  stain 
that  was  not  gray,  but  rather  ominously  dark, 
on  the  torn,  white  front  of  the  man's  evening 
shirt.  Nealman  peered  closely. 

"It's  my  butler,  Florey,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THERE  was  nothing  in  particular  to  say  or 
do.  We  simply  stood  looking  down,  that  hud- 
dled body  from  which  life  had  been  struck  as 
if  by  a  meteor,  in  the  center.  From  time  to 
time  we  looked  up  from  it  to  stare  out  over 
the  ensilvered  waters  of  the  lagoon. 

We  all  shared  this  same  inclination — to  look 
away  into  the  misty  distance,  past  the  lagoon, 
past  the  gray  shore,  into  the  sea  so  mysterious 
and  still.  The  tide  was  running  out  now,  so 
there  was  no  tumult  of  breaking  waves  on  the 
Bridge.  At  intervals,  and  at  a  great  distance, 
we  could  hear  the  high-pitched  shriek  of  plover. 

Of  course  the  mood  lasted  just  an  instant. 
It  was  as  if  we  had  all  been  stricken  silent 
and  lifeless,  unable  to  speak,  unable  to  act, 
with  only  the  power  left  to  look  and  to  wonder 
and  to  dream.  I  suppose  the  finding  of  that 
huddled  body,  under  those  conditions,  was  a 
severe  nervous  shock  to  us  all.  Joe  Nopp,  he 
of  the  true  eye  and  the  steady  nerve,  was  the 
first  to  get  back  on  an  every-day  footing  with 
life, 

64 


KASTLE   KRAGS  65 

"It's  a  fiendish  crime,"  he  said  in  the  still- 
ness. He  spoke  rather  slowly,  without  particu- 
lar emphasis.  "Of  all  the  people  to  murder — 
that  gray,  inoffensive  little  butler  of  yours! 
Nealman,  let's  get  busy.  Maybe  we  can  catch 
the  devil  yet." 

Nealman  came  to  himself  with  a  start.  "Sure, 
Joe.  Tell  us  what  to  do.  We  need  a  directing 
head  at  a  time  like  this." 

Nealman  had  dropped  his  accent.  He  spoke 
tersely,  more  like  a  man  in  the  street  than  the 
aristocrat  he  had  come  to  believe  himself  to  be. 

"The  first  thing  is  to  get  word  into  town — 
Ochakee,  you  call  it.  Get  hold  of  the  constable, 
or  any  other  authority,  and  tell  him  to  notify 
the  sheriff." 

"Ochakee's  the  county  seat — we  can  reach  the 
sheriff  himself." 

"Good.  Tell  him  to  take  steps  to  guard  all 
roads  for  suspicious  characters.  Get  out  posses, 
if  they  would  help.  Get  the  coroner  and  all  the 
official  help  we  can  get  out  here."  He  turned 
to  me,  with  a  whip-like,  emphatic  movement. 
"Killdare,  you  might  help  us  here.  You  likely 
know  the  roads.  Tell  us  what  to  do." 

"You've  said  what  to  do,"  I  told  him. 
"There's  not  enough  white  men  in  this  part  of 


66  KASTLE   KRAGS 

the  country  to  make  a  posse — and  a  posse 
couldn't  find  any  one  that  wanted  to  hide  in  the 
cypress  swamps.  The  thing  to  do — is  to  cut 
off  the  murderer's  escape  and  starve  him  out. 
Nealman,  isn't  yours  the  only  road " 

"As  far  as  I  know " 

"The  marshes  are  almost  impassible  to  the 
left,  and  on  the  other  side  is  the  river.  If  we 
can  keep  him  from  getting  as  far  as  Nixon's 


'Who's  Nixon- 


"Next  planter  up  the  road,  five  miles  up.  Get 
a  phone  to  him  right  away.  Young  Nixon  will 
watch  'all  night  and  stop  any  one  who  tries  to 
pass.  The  sheriff  can  put  a  man  there  to- 
morrow. Let's  find  a  phone." 

Hal  Fargo,  seemingly  as  cold  as  a  blade, 
started  to  bend  over  the  body  for  further  ex- 
amination of  the  wound,  but  two  of  the  men 
caught  his  arm. 

"Don't  touch  him,  Hal,"  Major  Dell  advised, 
quietly.  "The  less  we  track  up  the  spot  and 
muss  things  up  the  better.  The  detective'll  have 
a  better  chance  for  thumb  prints,  and  things 
like  that." 

"You're  right,  Dell,"  the  man  agreed.  "And 
now  let's  get  to  a  phone." 

"Good."     It  was  Joe  Nopp's  cool,  self-reliant 


KASTLE   KRAGS  67 

voice  again.  "In  the  meantime,  have  any  of 
you  got  a  gun?" 

Lemuel  Marten  alone  responded — he  carried 
a  little  automatic  pistol  in  the  pocket  of  his 
dinner  coat.  "Here,"  he  said.  He  drew  the 
thing  out,  and  it  made  blue  fire  in  the  moonlight 
in  his  hand. 

"Then,  Marten,  you  head  a  hunt  through 
these  grounds.  The  murderer  might  still  be 
hiding  in  the  shrubbery.  Stop  every  one — 
shoot  'em  if  they  don't  stop.  Now  Nealman, 
Van  Hope,  Killdare — where's  the  phone?" 

Nopp,  Nealman,  and  myself  started  for  the 
house;  Fargo,  Major  Dell,  and  Pescini  and  Van 
Hope  followed  Marten  into  the  more  shadowed 
parts  of  the  gardens  and  lawns.  Before  ever 
we  reached  the  house  we  heard  their  excited 
shouts  but  we  paused  only  an  instant.  "They 
can  handle  him  if  they've  got  him,"  Nopp  said. 
"We'd  better  go  and  do  our  work." 

We  divided  in  the  hall.  Nopp  and  I  went 
to  the  phone,  Nealman  and  Van  Hope,  at  Nopp's 
suggestion,  to  round  up  all  the  servants.  "Keep 
'em  in  one  room,  and  watch  'em,"  Nopp  advised. 
"We'll  like  enough  find  the  murderer  among 
them — some  domestic  jealousy,  or  something 
like  that.  Don't  give  any  of  'em  a  chance  to 
get  away  or  to  destroy  evidence." 


68  KASTLEKRAGS 

I  telephoned  to  Nixon's  first.  The  sleepy, 
country  Central  rang  long  and  often,  and  at  last 
a  drowsy  voice  answered  the  ring. 

"This  Charley  Nixon?"  I  asked. 

"Yes."  He  awakened  vividly  at  the  sound  of 
his  own  name. 

"This  is  Ned  Killdare — I  met  you  on  the 
way  out.  I'm  at  Nealman's — Kastle  Krags.  A 
man  has  been  murdered  here,  just  a  few  min- 
utes ago?  I  want  you  to  watch  the  road  with 
your  dogs — that  strip  between  the  river  and 
marsh,  and  not  let  any  one  go  through  from 
this  way.  Can  you  handle  it?" 

Charley  Nixon  had  borne  arms  in  France,  his 
father  had  ridden  with  the  Clansmen  of  long 
ago,  and  his  answer  was  clear  and  unhesitating 
over  the  wire.  "Any  one  who  tries  to  get  by 
me  will  be  S.  O.  L.,"  he  said. 

A  moment  later  I  reached  the  coroner  at 
Ochakee.  He  promised  he  could  start  for  the 
scene  at  once,  in  his  car,  bringing  the  sheriff 
or  his  deputy,  and  that  he  would  take  all  the  pre- 
cautions he  could  to  cut  off  the  murderer's 
escape.  Then  Nopp  and  I  returned  to  the  liv- 
ing-room. 

It  was  an  unforgettable  picture — that  scene 
in  the  big  living-room  where  Nealman's  guests 
had  been  so  merry  a  few  minutes  before.  A  bottle 


KASTLE   KRAGS  69 

of  whiskey  still  stood  on  the  table  in  the  center, 
half-filled  glasses,  in  which  the  ice  had  not  yet 
melted,  stood  beside  it  and  on  the  window-sills 
and  smoking  stands.  Little,  unwavering  fila- 
ments of  blue  smoke  streamed  up  from  half- 
burned  cigarettes.  In  the  places  of  the  revelers 
stood  a  group  of  sobbing,  terrified  negroes. 

We  were  not  native  southerners,  accustomed 
to  seeing  the  black  people  in  their  paroxysms  of 
fear,  and  the  sight  went  straight  home  to  all 
of  us.  These  were  the  "cotton  field  niggers" 
of  which  old-time  planters  speak,  slaves  to  the 
blackest  superstitions  that  ever  cursed  the  tribes 
of  the  Congo,  and  the  night's  crime  had  gone 
hard  with  them.  Their  faces  were  gray,  rather 
than  black,  the  whites  of  their  eyes  were  plainly 
visible,  and  they  made  a  confused  babble  of 
sound.  The  women,  particularly,  were  sob- 
bing and  praying  alternately;  most  of  the  men 
were  either  stuttering  or  apoplectic  with  sheer 
terror.  Some  of  them  cowered,  shrieking,  as 
we  opened  the  door. 

"Shut  up  that  noise  "  Nopp  demanded.  A 
dead  silence  followed  his  words.  "No  one  is 
going  to  hurt  you  as  long  as  you  stay  in  here 
and  shut  up.  Where's  the  boss." 

One  of  them  pointed,  rather  feebly,  to  the 
next  room.  And  I  took  the  instant's  interval 


70  KASTLE   KRAGS 

to  reach  the  side  of  some  one  that  sat,  alone  and 
silent,  in  a  big  chair  in  the  chimney-corner. 

It  was  Edith  Nealman,  and  she  had  been 
rounded  up  with  the  rest  of  the  house  employees 
Her  bare  feet  were  in  slippers,  and  she  wore  a 
long  dressing-gown  over  her  night-dress.  Her 
hair  hung  in  two  golden  braids  over  her  shoul- 
ders., 

I  was  glad  to  see  that  the  terror  of  the  blacks 
had  not  passed,  in  the  least  degree,  to  her.  Of 
course  she  was  pale  and  shaken,  her  eyes  were 
wide,  but  her  voice  when  she  spoke  was  sub- 
dued and  calm,  and  there  was  not  the  slightest 
trace  of  hysteria  about  her.  "It's  a  dreadful 
thing,  isn't  it?"  she  said.  "Poor  little  Florey 
— who'd  want  to  murder  him!" 

"Nobody  knows — but  we're  going  to  get  him, 
anyway,"  I  promised  rashly.  And  what  trans- 
pired thereafter  did  not  come  out  in  the  inquest. 

It  was  only  a  little  thing,  but  it  meant  teem- 
ing worlds  to  me.  One  of  her  hands  groped  out 
to  mine,  and  I  pressed  it  in  reassurance. 

Besides  the  native  southern  blacks  that  acted 
as  gardeners  and  chambermaids  and  table  hands 
about  the  place,  Nealman  had  rounded  up  his 
mulatto  chauffeur.  Mrs.  Gentry,  his  white 
housekeeper,  sat  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  group 
of  negroes. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  71 

In  a  moment  Nealman  and  Van  Hope  re- 
joined us,  and  we  turned  once  more  through  the 
still  hall  that  had  been  Florey's  particular  do- 
main. An  instant  later  we  were  out  on  the 
moonlit  driveway. 

"I  wonder  if  those  birds  will  have  sense 
enough  to  stay  away  from  the  body,"  Nopp 
said  gruffly.  "It  would  be  easy  to  mess  up  and 
destroy  every  bit  of  evidence " 

"Major  Dell  warned  them,"  I  said.  "I  think 
they'll  remember." 

"Nevertheless,  I  think  we'd  better  post  a 
guard  over  it."  He  paused,  eyeing  an  approach- 
ing figure.  It  was  Marten,  and  he  was  almost 
out  of  breath. 

"Any  luck?"  Nealman  asked. 

"Nothing."  Marten  paused,  fighting  for 
breath.  "Something  stirred  over  in  the  thicket 
— we  chased  it  down  and  tried  to  round  it  up. 
I  guess  it  wasn't  anything — certainly  if  it  had 
been  a  man  we'd  scared  it  out.  Have  you  a 
dog?" 

"Haven't  shipped  my  dogs  down  here  yet, 
but  coons  and  such  things  come  out  of  the 
woods  every  once  in  a  while.  Where  are  your 
men " 

"They'll  round  up  here  in  a  minute.  We've 
been  beating  through  the  grounds." 


72  KASTLE   KRAGS 

In  a  moment  Major  Dell  and  Fargo  ap- 
proached us  from  opposite  sides  of  the  garden, 
and  once  more  we  headed  down  toward  the 
lagoon.  A  voice  called  after  us,  and  Pescini 
caught  up. 

"No  trace  of  anything?"  he  asked. 

"Not  a  trace,"  some  one  replied. 

We  walked  with  ever-decreasing  pace,  a  rather 
uncertain  group,  down  toward  the  crags  of  the 
shore.  All  of  us,  I  think,  were  busy  with  our 
own  thoughts.  All  of  us  paused,  at  last,  forty 
yards  from  the  scene  of  the  tragedy. 

"There's  really  nothing  further  we  can  do," 
Nopp  said.  "If  the  murderer  is  among  the 
servants  we've  got  him — you  found  'em  all, 
didn't  you,  Nealman?" 

"All  of  'em.     No   suspicious  circumstances." 

"Good.  If  he  is  some  outsider,  we'll  round 
him  up.  I  rather  think  the  former — it's  too 
early  to  make  a  guess.  But  I  think  we'd  better 
appoint  a  guard  over  the  body — to  keep  any 
curious  persons  from  coming  near  and  tramping 
out  footprints,  and  so  on.  There's  apt  to  be  a 
crowd  of  the  curious  here  to-morrow." 

All  of  us  nodded.  Lemuel  Marten  whispered 
an  oath. 

Nopp  turned  to  him.  "Would  you  mind 
taking  that  post  to-night,  Marten?"  he  asked. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  73 

Because  he  already  knew  the  man's  answer, 
he  turned  to  us.  "Lem's  the  best  man  for  the 
post,"  he  explained.  "You  chaps  know  we'll  all 
have  to  give  an  account  of  our  actions  to-night. 
It's  customary  at  such  times.  And  you  know 
that  Lem  was  busy  singing  his  pirate  song  when 
the  thing  occurred." 

"That's  an  unnecessary  point,  Joe,"  Marten 
answered.  "None  of  us  will  be  in  the  least 
suspected.  This  poor  chap — that  none  of  us 
knew.  However,  I'll  gladly  enough  act  as 
guard." 

"You've  still  got  your  gun?" 
"I  made  Pescini  carry  it.     He's  a  shot." 
Pescini    handed    him   back    the    weapon,    and 
Marten  walked  on  across  the  lawn  to  his  post. 
The  rest  of  us  waited  an  instant  in  the  road, 
talking  quietly  to  one  another,  and  two  or  three 
of  the  men  were  getting  out  their  cigarettes.     It 
was  our  first  breathing-spell.     Then  we  started 
slowly  back  toward  the  house. 

But  we  halted  at  the  sound  of  Marten's  voice. 
"Wait  a  minute,  will  you?"  he  called. 

It  is  hard  to  explain  why  we  all  stopped  in 
our  tracks.  Van  Hope,  whom  I  had  never  sus- 
pected of  nerves,  let  his  cigarette  fall  to  the 
ground,  a  red  streak.  The  voice  out  of  the 
gloom  was  wholly  quiet,  subdued,  perfectly 


74  KASTLE   KRAGS 

calm,  seemingly  nothing  to  waken  alarm  or  even 
especial  interest.  Perhaps  what  held  us  and 
startled  us  was  the  realization  of  an  effort  of 
will  behind  those  commonplace,  unruffled  tones. 

"What  is  it,  Lem?"  Nopp  asked. 

There  was  an  instant's  interval  of  unfathom- 
able silence.  "I  wish  you'd  come  here,"  Marten 
replied.  "I'm  a  little  balled  up — as  to  where  I 
am.  These  trees  and  shrubs  are  so  near  alike. 
I  can't  exactly  find — the  place." 

Nopp  did  get  there,  but  he  didn't  go  alone. 
All  of  us  turned,  half-running.  And  for  a 
vague,  bewildered,  half-remembered  moment  we 
searched  frantically  up  and  down  the  craggy 
shore  of  the  lagoon. 

Then  in  the  moonlight  I  saw  Nopp  and  Neal- 
man  come  together,  and  Nopp  seized  the  other's 
arms. 

"My  God,  Grover!"  he  said  hoarsely.  "The 
body  has  disappeared!" 


CHAPTER    IX 

THERE  was  no  further  possibility  of  a  mis- 
take. Marten's  inability  to  find  the  body  could 
not  be  further  attributed  to  a  mere  confusion 
as  to  its  correct  location.  In  the  few  minutes 
we  had  been  phoning  and  while  the  remainder 
of  th.e  guests  had  been  searching  for  the  mur- 
derer, the  body  of  the  murdered  man  had  van- 
ished from  the  shore  of  the  lagoon.  Nor  had 
any  mysterious  over-sweeping  of  the  water 
carried  it  away.  We  found,  easily  enough,  the 
place  where  it  had  lain,  and  we  knew  it  by  the 
crushed  vegetation  and  an  ominous  stain  on  the 
earth. 

For  a  moment  we  all  stood  speechless,  almost 
motionless,  gazing  down  on  the  place  where  the 
body  had  been.  The  guest's  faces  all  looked 
oddly  white  in  the  moonlight.  Then  I  heard 
Nealman  and  Nopp  talking  in  a  subdued  voice 
at  my  side. 

"You  see  what  it  means,"  Nealman  said. 
"The  murderer  came  back  to  the  body — that's 
the  only  explanation!  That  means  he's  still  on 

75 


76  KASTLEKRAGS 

the  grounds — perhaps  within  a  few  hundred 
yards." 

"But  what  did  he  do  with  the  thing?  I  wish 
I  did  know  what  it  meant.  It  makes  no  sense. 
But  there's  nothing  we  can  do " 

His  words  blurred  in  my  consciousness,  and  I 
suddenly  ceased  to  hear  him.  The  reason  was 
simply  that  my  own  thoughts  were  now  too  busy 
to  admit  external  impressions.  If  there  was 
one  thing  needed  in  this  affair  it  was  careful  in- 
vestigation and  research — the  very  key  and 
basis  of  my  own  life's  work.  I  was  a  scientist — 
at  least  I  had  gone  a  distance  into  scientific 
work — and  scientific  methods  were  needed  now. 
Why  shouldn't  I  direct  the  same  method  that 
made  me  a  successful  naturalist  into  the  unrav- 
eling of  this  mystery? 

Science  has  explored  the  lightless  mysteries 
of  the  deep,  has  measured  the  stars  and  traced 
the  comets  through  the  heavens:  there  was  no 
cause  to  believe  it  couldn't  conquer  now.  I  was 
of  a  branch  of  science  that  mainly  studied  ex- 
ternals, my  methods  were  simply  accurate  ob- 
servation, tireless  investigation,  and  logical  de- 
duction— the  methods  of  all  naturalists  the 
world  over;  and  they  were  just  what  was  needed 
here. 

Presently  I  forgot  the  shaken  men  about  me 


KASTLEKRAGS  77 

and  began  really  to  observe.  First,  I  tried  to 
fix  in  my  mind  the  exact  way  the  body  had  lain. 
It  had  been  curiously  huddled,  lying  rather  on 
the  right  side — and  the  torn,  stained  shirt-front 
had  been  plainly  visible.  Its  location  was  not 
far  above  high-tide  mark,  at  the  edge  of  the 
lawns — and  because  the  craggy  margin  of  the 
lagoon  was  rather  precipitous  at  that  place,  not 
more  than  twenty  feet  from  the  water's  edge  at 
low  tide. 

It  was  impossible  even  to  hazard  a  guess  what 
kind  of  a  weapon  had  inflicted  the  death  wound. 
But  it  had  not  been  a  clean,  stabbing  wound  to 
the  heart.  The  wound  itself  must  have  been  a 
long  gash  downward  along  the  breast,  for  the 
shirt  and  waistcoat  had  been  curiously  ripped 
and  torn.  And  possibly  the  weapon  might  be 
found  in  the  grass  where  the  body  had  lain. 

I  quietly  moved  back  and  forth  among  the 
group  of  men,  searching  for  the  gleam  of  moon- 
light upon  a  knife  blade.  It  didn't  reveal  itself, 
however,  and  there  seemed  no  course  but  to 
wait  for  daylight.  But  as  I  was  about  to  give 
up  the  search  my  eye  caught  the  glimpse  of 
something  white,  half-hidden  in  the  grass  in  the 
direction  of  the  house. 

I  quietly  picked  it  up,  saw  that  it  was  a  folded 
piece  of  heavy  paper  or  parchment,  and  slipped 


78  KASTLEKRAGS 

it  into  my  pocket.  Then  I  rejoined  the  little 
crowd  of  guests. 

"Good  Lord,  what  can  we  do  .  .  .?" 
Pescini  was  saying  excitedly.  "The  lake  can't 
be  dragged  until  to-morrow.  There's  no  use  to 
post  guards  around  this  big  house — the  thickets 
are  so  heavy  that  any  one  could  steal  through 
almost  any  place.  We've  got  the  road  guarded 
— and  the  officers  won't  come  till  tomorrow. 
It's  true  that  a  couple  of  us  could  stand  guard 
here " 

"I  don't  see  what  good  it  would  do,"  Nopp 
replied.  "The  murderer  would  have  no  cause 
to  come  back  again.  I  suggest  we  go  to  the 
house  and  get  what  rest  we  can.  We  may  have 
to  make  some  posses  in  the  morning." 

In  the  privacy  of  my  own  room  I  took  from 
my  pocket  the  paper  I  had  found.  It  proved 
to  be  of  heavy  parchment,  whitened  by  time; 
and  I  felt  at  once  I  was  running  on  a  true  scent. 

There  could  be  little  doubt  as  to  the  age  of 
the  document.  The  ink  was  fading,  the  hand- 
writing itself  was  in  the  style  of  long  ago.  The 
fact  that  the  script  was  scratchy  and  uncertain, 
indicated  that  a  man  of  meager  education  had 
written  it.  It  was,  however,  perfectly  legible. 
I  judged  that  the  date  of  the  missive  was  at 
least  ten  or  twenty  years  prior  to  the  civil  war? 


KASTLE   KRAGS  79 

Across  the  top  of  the  page  were  written  the 
words,  referring  evidently  to  the  script  beneath, 
"Sworn  by  the  Book."  At  the  very  bottom  was 
the  cryptic  phrase  "int  F.  T."  And  the  following, 
mysterious  column  lay  between: 

aned 

dqbo 

aqcd 

trkm 

fipj 

dqbo 

scno 

ohuy 

wvyn 

dljn 

dtht 

Of  course  no  kind  of  an  explanation  presented 
itself  at  first.  I  took  it  to  a  mirror,  tried  to 
read  it  backward,  then  sat  down  to  give  it  a 
careful  analysis. 

I  copied  the  column  carefully,  then  tried  to 
rearrange  the  letters  to  make  sense.  But  no  such 
simple  treatment  was  availing.  The  fourth, 
ninth,  tenth,  and  last  words,  for  instance,  were 
made  up  entirely  of  consonants,  and  no  word  of 
any  language,  known  to  me,  entirely  omits  vow- 
els. Four  of  the  remaining  seven  words  con- 
tained but  one  vowel. 

But  I  was  in  no  mood  to  go  further  to-night. 


80  KASTLEKRAGS 

The  events  of  the  past  few  hours  had  been  a 
mighty  strain  on  the  entire  nervous  system,  and 
my  mind  could  not  cope  with  the  problem.  I 
spread  the  original  parchment  on  the  little  table 
in  the  center  of  the  room,  then  quickly  un- 
dressed, turned  out  my  lights,  and  went  to  bed. 

Sleep  came  at  once,  heavy  and  dreamless.  I 
barely  remember  the  welcome  chill  that  the  pre- 
dawn hours  brought  to  the  room.  But  it  wasn't 
written  that  there  should  be  many  hours  of  re- 
freshing sleep  for  me  that  night. 

In  hardly  a  moment,  it  seemed  to  me,  I  came 
to  myself  with  a  start.  Wakefulness  shot 
through  me  as  if  by  an  electric  shock.  It  was 
that  fast-flying  hour  just  before  dawn:  the  cool 
caress  of  the  wind  against  my  face  and  the  pale- 
blue  quality  of  the  darkness  on  the  window-pane 
told  that  fact  with  entire  plainness.  It  had  been 
wakened  by  a  hushed  sound  from  across  the 
room. 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  tell  myself  that  the 
sound  was  a  dream  only,  an  imagined  voice  that 
had  no  basis  in  reality.  For  all  that  it  was  sub- 
dued, the  sound  was  entirely  sharp  and  clear, 
impossible  to  mistake.  And  instantly  I  knew  its 
source. 

Some  one  had  opened  my  door.  There  was 
no  other  possible  explanation.  Nor  had  it  been 


KASTLE   KRAGS  81 

merely  the  harmless  mistake  of  one  of  the 
guests,  confusing  my  room  with  his  own.  I 
heard  the  door  open,  but  I  did  not  hear  it  close. 
Nor  did  I  hear  departing  steps  along  the 
corridor. 

My  nightly  visitor  had  come  in  stealth,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  believe  but  at  that  instant 
he  was  waiting  in  the  darkness  on  the  other  side 
of  the  room. 

It  isn't  easy  to  decide  what  to  do  at  a  time 
like  this.  I  was  perfectly  willing  to  simulate 
slumber  if  by  so  doing  I  could  increase  my  own 
safety.  Florey's  affair  was  still  fresh  in  my 
mind.  A  cruel  and  cold-blooded  murder  had 
been  committed  at  Kastle  Krags  earlier  this 
same  night:  this  tiptoeing  visitor  in  my  room 
was  in  all  likelihood  a  desperate  man,  willing  to 
repeat  his  crime  if  his  own  safety  demanded  it. 
My  possessions  were  few:  it  was  better  to  let 
them  go  than  take  such  a  risk. 

Yet  a  wiser,  saner  self  told  me  that  this  was 
no  business  of  thievery.  The  thing  went  deeper, 
further  than  I  could  see  or  guess.  I  lay  listen- 
ing: from  time  to  time  I  could  hear  the  boards 
settle  beneath  his  feet.  Evidently  he  was  grop- 
ing about  the  darkened  room,  in  search  of  some- 
thing. .  .  .  Then  a  faint  jar  told  me  that 
his  hand  was  on  the  iron  railing  of  my  bed. 


82  KASTLE   KRAGS 

It  wasn't  a  reassuring  thought  that  he  had 
been  groping  about  the  room  solely  to  find  my 
bed.  My  muscles  set  for  a  desperate  leap  in 
case  I  felt  him  groping  nearer.  .  .  .  There 
was  a  long,  ominous  instant  of  silence.  Then  a 
little,  triangle  of  light  danced  out  over  my 
table-top. 

.It  was  a  ray  from  a  flashlight,  and  it  came 
and  went  so  soon  that  there  was  no  chance  to 
make  accurate  observation.  I  did,  however,  see 
just  the  edge  of  his  hand  as  he  reached  for 
something  on  the  flat  surface  of  the  table.  It 
was  a  white,  strong  hand — long,  sensitive  fin- 
gers— evidently  the  hand  of  a  well-bred,  middle- 
aged  man. 

The  light  flashed  out.  Steps  sounded  softly 
on  the  floor.  Then  my  door  closed  with  a  slight 
shock. 

There  is  no  use  trying  to  justify  my  inactivity 
during  his  presence  in  the  room.  At  such  times 
a  man  is  guided  by  instinct — and  my  instinct  had 
been  to  lie  still  and  let  him  do  his  work.  The 
action  might  condemn  me  in  some  eyes,  but  I 
felt  no  shame  for  it.  And  as  soon  as  the  door 
closed  I  sprang  to  the  floor. 

Groping,  I  found  the  light,  and  the  white 
beams  flooded  the  room.  Presently  I  opened 
the  door  and  gazed  down  the  gloomy  hall. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  83 

It  was  still  as  a  tomb.  There  were  a  dozen 
doors  along  it,  and  any  one  of  them  might  have 
closed  behind  the  intruder.  It  was  the  hall  of  a 
well-ordered  country  manor,  rather  common- 
place in  the  subdued  light  of  a  single  globe  that 
burned  over  the  stairway.  The  opportunity  to 
overtake  the  intruder  was  irredeemably  past. 

It  wasn't  hard  to  tell  what  had  been  taken. 
The  sheet  of  parchment,  on  which  was  written 
the  mysterious  cryptogram,  was  gone  from  the 
table.  The  only  satisfaction  I  had  was  that  the 
thief  had  failed  to  see  and  procure  the  copy  of 
the  document  I  had  made  just  before  retiring. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  sheriff  and  the  coroner  arrived  from 
Ochakee  in  a  roadster  soon  after  dawn.  All  of 
us  felt  relieved  at  their  coming:  they  represented 
the  best  and  most  intelligent  type  of  southern 
citizenry.  Sheriff  Slatterly  was  scarcely  older 
than  I  was,  and  had  been  given  his  office  for 
meritorious  services  in  the  late  war.  He  was  a 
broad-shouldered  large-headed  man,  with  keen, 
good-natured  eyes,  a  firm  mouth,  and  rather 
prominent  chin.  We  scraped  up  an  acquaintance 
at  once  on  the  strength  of  our  Legion  buttons. 

"I'm  glad  theya's  a  suvice  man  heah,"  he  con- 
fessed to  me.  "It's  sho'  a  mess  of  a  case — and 
my  deputy  is  busy.  I've  neveh  wo'ked  among 
these  millionaih  Yankee  spo'ts  befo',  but  I  sup- 
pose they  ah  all  right.  Now  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  it  all." 

"I  don't  think,"  I  confessed.  "It  doesn't 
make  good  sense." 

He  asked  me  questions  in  the  vernacular  of 
the  South,  and  I  answered  them  the  best  I  could. 
Then  he  introduced  me  to  the  coroner. 

Mr.  Weldon  was  a  man  of  about  forty  years, 

84 


KASTLE   KRAGS  85 

intelligent,  forceful,  not  in  the  least  the  mourn- 
ful type  so  often  sees  among  undertakers.  He 
was  rather  careless  in  speech,  but  I  did  not 
ascribe  it  to  lack  of  education.  He  had  rather 
a  Semitic  countenance,  and  a  very  deep,  manly 
voice. 

"Of  course  the  first  thing  is  to  drag  the 
lagoon,"  he  said.  "We've  got  to  have  a  body 
before  we  can  hold  anything  but  a  semblance  of 
an  inquest — and  of  course  thet's  where  the  body 
is.  It  couldn't  be  nowhere's  else." 

All  of  us  agreed  with  him.  There  was  simply 
nothing  else  to  do.  The  body  had  lain  but 
thirty  feet  from  the  water's  edge:  it  was  con- 
ceivable that  for  some  mysterious  reason  the 
murderer  had  seen  fit  to  return  and  drag  his 
dead  into  the  water.  The  idea  of  him  carrying 
it  in  any  other  direction  was  incredible. 

While  we  waited  for  drag  hooks  to  be  sent 
out  from  town  the  sheriff  made  a  minute  exam- 
ination of  the  scene  of  the  crime.  He  searched 
the  ground  for  clews;  and  it  semed  to  me  the 
little  puzzled  line  between  his  brows  deepened 
with  every  moment  of  the  search.  He  stood  up 
at  last,  breathing  hard. 

"The  murderer  made  a  clean  get  away,  that's 
certain,"  he  observed.  "It  isn't  often  a  man 
can  commit  a  crime  like  this  and  not  leave  a 


86  KASTLE    KRAGS 

few  trails.  I  can't  find  a  trace  or  a  button. 
And  if  he  left  any  tracks  they  are  mixed  up  with 
those  you  gentlemen  made  last  night. 

He  went  carefully  over  the  rocks  between  the 
place  where  the  body  had  lain  and  the  water; 
but  there  was  little  for  him  here.  Once  or  twice 
he  paused,  studying  the  rocks  with  a  careful 
scrutiny,  but  he  did  not  tell  us  what  he  found. 

About  ten  the  drag-hooks  came,  and  I  helped 
Nealman  bring  his  duckboat  from  the  marshy 
end  of  the  lagoon.  Then  the  sheriff,  the  cor- 
oner and  myself  began  the  slow,  tiresome  work 
of  dragging. 

Of  course  we  began  along  the  shore,  close  to 
the  scene  of  the  crime.  We  worked  from  the 
natural  wall  and  back  to  a  point  a  hundred 
yards  beyond  the  starting-place.  Then  we 
turned  back,  just  the  width  of  the  drag  hooks 
beyond.  We  reached  the  Bridge  again  without 
result. 

As  the  moments  passed  the  coroner's  annoy- 
ance increased.  Noon  came  and  passed — al- 
ready we  had  dragged  carefully  a  spot  a  full 
hundred  square  yards  in  extent.  The  tide  flowed 
again,  beat  against  the  Bridge  and  fretted  the 
water,  making  our  work  increasingly  difficult. 
And  at  last  the  sheriff  rested,  cursing  softly,  on 
his  oars. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  87 

"Well,  Weldon?"  he  asked. 

The  coroner's  eyes  looked  rather  bright  as  he 
turned  to  answer  him.  I  got  the  impression  that 
for  all  his  outer  complacency  he  was  secretly 
excited.  "Nothing,  Slatterly,"  he  said.  "What 
do  you  think  yourself?" 

"I  think  we're  face  to  face  with  the  worst 
deal,  the  biggest  mystery  that's  come  our  way 
in  years.  In  the  first  place,  there  isn't  any  use 
of  looking  and  dragging  any  more." 

"But  man,  the  body's  got  to  be  'here  some- 
where." 

"Got,  nothing!  We've  got  to  begin  again, 
and  not  take  anything  for  granted.  This  is  still 
water,  except  for  these  waves  the  tide  makes, 
breaking  over  the  rocks — and  you  know  a  body 
doesn't  move  much  in  still  water,  especially  the 
first  night.  For  that  matter  the  place  was  still 
as  a  slough,  they  say,  while  the  tide  was  going 
out — most  of  the  night.  We've  looked  for  a 
hundred  yards  about  the  spot.  It's  not  there. 
And  the  murderer  couldn't  swim  with  it  clear 
across  the  lagoon." 

"He  might,  a  strong  swimmer." 

"But  what's  the  sense  of  it?  Besides,  a  dead 
body  ain't  easy  to  manage.  The  thing  to  do  is 
to  search  Florey's  rooms  for  any  evidence,  then 
to  get  all  the  niggers  and  the  white  folks  as  well 


88  KASTLE   KRAGS 

and  have  an  unofficial  inquest.  Then  we  might 
see  where  we're  at." 

"Good."  The  coroner  turned  to  me.  "Is 
there  any  use  of  hunting  up  Mr.  Nealman  to 
show  us  Florey's  room?"  he  asked.  "Can't  you 
take  us  up  there?" 

I  was  glad  enough  of  the  chance  to  be  on 
hand  for  that  search,  so  I  didn't  hesitate  to  an- 
swer. "You  are  the  law.  You  can  go  where 
you  like — wherever  you  think  best." 

We  went  together  up  the  stairs  to  Florey's 
room.  There  was  not  the  least  sign  that  trag- 
edy had  overtaken  its  occupant.  It  was  scrupu- 
lously kept:  David  Florey  must  have  been  the 
neatest  of  men.  The  search,  however,  was 
largely  unavailing. 

In  a  little  desk  at  one  corner  we  found  a 
number  of  papers  and  letters.  Some  of  them 
pertained  to  household  matters,  there  was  a 
note  from  some  friend  in  Charleston,  a  folder 
issued  by  a  steamship  plying  out  of  Tampa,  and 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Noyes,  of  New  Hampshire, 
who  seemed  to  be  the  dead  man's  sister.  At 
least  the  salutation  was  "Dear  Brother  Dave." 
and  the  letter  itself  dealt  with  the  fortunes  of 
common  relatives.  Then  there  were  a  few  short 
letters  from  one  who  signed  himself  "George." 

These    was    nothing    of    particular    interest. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  89 

Mostly  they  were  notifications  of  arrivals  and 
departures  in  various  cities,  and  they  seemed  to 
concern  various  business  ventures.  "I've  got  a 
good  lead,"  one  of  them  said,  "but  it  may  turn 
out  like  the  rest."  "Things  are  brightening 
up,"  another  went.  "I  believe  I  see  a  rift  in 
the  clouds." 

"George"  was  unquestionably  a  traveler. 
One  of  the  notes  had  been  written  from  Wash- 
ington, D.  C.,  one  from  Tampa,  the  third  from 
some  obscure  port  in  Brazil.  They  were  writ- 
ten in  a  rather  bold,  rugged,  but  not  unat- 
tractive hand. 

The  only  document  that  gave  any  kind  of  a 
key  to  the  mystery  was  a  half-finished  letter  that 
protruded  beneath  the  blotter  pad  on  his  desk. 
It  was  addressed  "My  dear  Sister,"  and  was 
undoubtedly  in  answer  to  the  "Mrs.  Noyes" 
letter.  The  sheriff  read  it  aloud: 

My  dear  Sister: 

I  got  the  place  here  and  like  it  very 
much.  Mr.  Nealman  is  a  fine  man  to 
work  for.  I  get  on  with  my  work  very 
well.  The  house  is  located  on  a  lagoon, 
cut  off  from  the  open  sea  by  a  natural  rock 
wall — a  very  lovely  place. 

But  you  will  be  sorry  to  hear  that  my 

old  malady,  g ,  is  troubling  me  again. 

I  don't  think  I  will  ever  be  rid  of  it.  It 


90  KASTLEKRAGS 

is  certainly  the  Florey  burden,  going 
through  all  our  family.  I  can't  hardly 
sleep,  and  don't  know  that  I'll  ever  get  rid 
of  it,  short  of  death.  I'm  deeply  discour- 
aged, yet  I  know 

At  that  point  the  letter  ended.  The  sheriff's 
voice  died  away  so  slowly  and  tonelessly  that  it 
gave  almost  the  effect  of  a  start.  Then  he  laid 
the  letter  on  the  desk  and  smoothed  it  out  with 
his  hands. 

"Weldon?"  he  asked  jerkily.  "Do  you 
s'pose  we've  got  off  on  the  wrong  foot, 
altogether?" 

"What  d'ye  mean?" 

"Do  you  suppose  that  poor  devil  did  himself 
in?  At  least  we've  got  a  motive  for  suicide, 
and  a  good  one — and  there's  none  whatever  for 
murder.  You  know  what  old  Bampus  used  to 
say — find  the  motive  first." 

"Of  course  you  mean  the  disease  he  writes  of. 
Why  didn't  he  spell  it  out." 

"He  was  likely  just  given  to  abbreviations. 
Lots  of  men  are.  The  word  might  have  been 
a  long  one,  and  hard  to  spell." 

"Most  invalids.  I've  noticed,  rejoice  in  the 
long  names  of  their  diseases!" 

"Not  a  bad  remark,  from  an  undertaker.  I 
suppose  you  mean  they  get  your  hopes  all 


KASTLE   KRAGS  91 

aroused  by  their  diseases  when  they  ain't  got 
'em,  you  old  buzzard.  But  seriously,  Weldon. 
He  writes  here  that  his  old  malady  has  come 
back  on  him,  some  disease  that  runs  through  his 
family — that  he's  discouraged,  that  he  doesn't 
think  he'll  ever  be  rid  of  it.  You  know  that 
ill-health  is  the  greatest  cause  for  suicide — that 
more  men  blow  out  their  own  brains  because 
they  are  incurably  sick  than  for  any  other  rea- 
son. He  says  he  can't  sleep.  And  what  leads 
to  suicide  faster  than  that!" 

"All  true  enough.  But  it  don't  hold  water. 
Where's  the  knife?  What  became  of  the  body? 
Suicides  don't  eat  the  knife  that  killed  them, 
lay  dead,  and  then  crawl  away.  You'll  have  to 
do  better." 

"He  might  not  have  been  quite  dead.  Even 
doctors  have  been  deceived  before  now,  and 
crawled  into  the  water  to  end  his  own  misery. 
You  can  bet  I'm  going  to  keep  the  matter  in 
mind." 

And  it  was  a  curious  thing  that  this  little 
handful  of  letters  also  set  me  off  on  a  new  tack. 
A  possibility  so  bizarre  and  so  terrible  that  it 
seemed  almost  beyond  the  pale  of  credibility 
flashed  to  my  mind.  I  watched  my  chance,  and 
slipped  one  of  the  "George"  letters  into  my 
pocket. 


92  KASTLE   KRAGS 

The  idea  I  had  was  vague,  not  overly  con- 
vincing, and  it  left  a  great  part  of  the  mystery 
still  unsolved — but  yet  it  was  a  clew.  I  waited 
impatiently  until  the  search  was  concluded. 
Then  I  sought  the  telephone. 

A  few  minutes  later  a  telegraphic  message 
was  clicking  over  the  wires  to  Mrs.  Noyes,  in 
New  Hampshire,  notifying  her  of  her  brother's 
murder  and  disappearance,  and  asking  a  certain 
question.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait 
patiently  for  the  answer. 


CHAPTER   XI 

IN  midafternoon  the  coroner  called  all  the 
occupants  of  the  manor  house  together  in  the 
big  living-room.  He  had  us  draw  chairs  to 
make  a  half  circle  about  him,  and  the  sheriff 
took  a  chair  at  his  side.  He  began  at  once  upon 
a  patient,  systematic  questioning  of  every  one 
present. 

None  of  us  could  read  the  thoughts  behind 
his  rather  swarthy  face.  His  coal-black  eyes 
were  alike  unfathomable:  whether  he  believed 
that  the  murderer  was  then  sitting  in  our  circle 
we  could  not  guess.  "Of  course  this  is  not  an 
official  inquest,"  he  told  us.  "The  real  inquest 
can't  be  held  until  there  is  a  body  to  hold  it 
over.  I'm  doing  this  in  co-operation  with  the 
sheriff.  And  of  course  I  needn't  tell  you  that 
all  of  you  are  held  here,  with  orders  not  to 
leave  the  immediate  grounds,  until  a  formal  in- 
quest can  be  held." 

"But  what  if  you  never  find  the  body?"  Mar- 
ten asked.  "Some  of  us — can't  stay  forever." 

"The  law  takes  heed  of  no  man's  business," 
the  coroner  answered,  somewhat  sternly.  "How- 

93 


94  KASTLE   KRAGS 

ever,  I'll  have  counsel  from  the  state  in  a  few 
days,  and  then  we  can  tell  what  to  do.  The  dis- 
trict attorney  will  be  here  just  as  soon  as  his 
work  will  permit." 

He  called  Nealman  first.  Except  for  a 
strange  and  startling  deepening  of  the  worry- 
line  between  his  brows  I  would  have  thought 
that  he  was  wholly  unshaken.  Weldon  asked 
his  name,  place  of  birth,  thirdly  his  occupation. 

"I  can't  hardly  say — I'm  interested  in 
finance,"  Nealman  said  in  reply  to  the  third 
question. 

"And  how  long  have  you  occupied  this 
house?" 

"Less  than  a  month.  I  bought  it  last  winter, 
but  it  has  been  under  the  charge  of — of  a  care- 
taker until  that  time." 

"Who  was  the  caretaker?" 

Nealman's  voice  fell  a  note.  "Florey — the 
man  murdered  last  night." 

"Ah."  The  coroner  paused  an  instant,  as  if 
deep  in  thought.  "And  how  did  he  happen  to 
come  into  your  employ?" 

"He  was  employed  at  this  house  by  its  pre- 
vious owner,  just  a  few  days  or  weeks  before  I 
purchased  it.  He  asked  for  work  here  when  I 
came  to  take  possession.  He  was  an  experi- 
enced butler,  he  said." 


KASTLE   KRAGS  95 

"Then  that's  all  you  know  about  the  dead 
man?" 

"Absolutely  all." 

"His  full  name?" 

"I  made  out  his  check  to  David  Florey.  I 
assumed  he  was  an  Eglishman." 

"You  didn't  know  that,  for  sure?" 

"No."  Nealman  hesitated,  as  if  secretly 
startled.  "I  really  didn't  know  it,  when  I  come 
to  think  about  it.  I  always  assumed  that  he 
was." 

"He  was  a  good  servant?" 

"Excellent.  I  can  go  further.  The  best,  most 
conscientious  butler  I  ever  had." 

"Did  you  ever  get  the  idea  he  had  any 
enemies?" 

"No.    He  seemed  the  most  peaceable  of  men." 

"None  of  the  other  servants  were  jealous  of 
him?" 

"On  the  contrary,  they  seemed  to  like  him 
very  much." 

"He  stayed  close  to  his  work?" 

"He  scarcely  ever  went  to  town.  Once  or 
twice  he  asked  me  for  permission  to  go  with 
my  chauffeur — for  a  hair  cut,  and  so  on." 

"What  did  you  observe  about  his  health? 
Did  it  seem  to  be  good?" 

"It  seemed  so.       Very  good." 


96  KASTLE   KRAGS 

The  coroner's  interest  quickened.  "You 
Weren't  aware,  then,  that  he  had  an  incurable 
malady?" 

"No.  And  I  don't  think  he  had.  At  least  I 
never  saw  the  least  sign  of  it.  None  of  the 
other  servants  ever  mentioned  it." 

"Did  he  look  like  a  man  in  good  health?" 

"He  was  rather  gray — from  his  indoor  life, 
I  suppose.  But  he  never  looked  sick  to  me." 

"You  think  he  was  murdered,  then?" 

"Good  Heavens,  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
think  anything  else!" 

"You  can  ascribe  no  reason  for  his  murder." 

"Absolutely  none." 

"You  can't,  eh."  The  coroner  paused,  sev- 
eral seconds.  "To  come  back  to  yourself.  You 
were  here  less  than  a  month.  May  I  ask  what 
was  your  idea  in  buying  this  manor  house?" 

"I  hardly  understand " 

"What  did  you  get  it  for,  a  home?" 

"I  can't  hardly  say  a  home.  I  got  it  more 
for  a  winter  shooting  and  fishing  lodge.  My 
home  is  on  the  Hudson.  I'm  very  fond  of 
fishing  and  shooting.  I  loved  the  place  on 
sight." 

"I  take  it,  then,  that  you  are  a  man  of  large 
financial  means — able  to  indulge  your  whims 


KASTLE   KRAGS  97 

even  to  the  extent  of  buying  a  shooting  and 
fishing  lodge  such  as  this?" 

Nealman  stiffened  slightly.  UI  don't  see  how 
that  point  can  possibly  have  any  bearing  on  this 
case." 

"The  merest  detail  of  the  lives  of  any  one  of 
the  actors  involved  often  throws  light  upon  a 
crime."  The  coroner  spoke  slowly,  seemingly 
choosing  his  words  with  care. 

"I  am  not  a  man  of  great  wealth,  if  that's 
what  you  want  to  know,"  Nealman  answered  at 
last.  "I  feel — I  felt  able  at  the  time  to  buy 
this  house." 

"No  great  financial  disaster  has  overtaken 
you  since,  I  judge?" 

Nealman's  voice  dropped  a  tone,  and  he 
spoke  with  a  curious  hesitancy.  "No.  I 
shouldn't  say  that  there  had." 

The  coroner  halted,  gazing  absently  at  the 
carpet,  and  then  began  on  a  new  tack.  "This 
butler  of  yours — I  suppose  you  paid  him  a  good 
wage?" 

"It  would  be  considered  so,  among  the  men 
of  his  occupation." 

"Do  you  know  if  he  had  any  large  amount 
of  money  saved,  or  if  he  carried  any  large 
amount  on  his  person?" 


98  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  He  was  very  non-com- 
mittal about  his  affairs." 

"He  was  a  good  butler,"  the  coroner  com- 
mented. 

"Yes.  Excellent.  If  you  mean,  did  he  carry 
enough  money  on  his  person  to  invite  robbery, 
I  should  say  that  I  don't  think  he  did.  Of 
course  I  don't  know  for  certain.  However,  I 
know  that  he  had  banking  connections  in 
Ochakee." 

"What  of  your  other  employees.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  them?" 

"They  all  came  recommended.  I  know  noth- 
ing further  except,  of  course,  in  regard  to  my 
housekeeper  and  chauffeur." 

"Your  chauffeur  is  a  colored  man?" 

"Yes.  He  has  been  with  me  for  four  years. 
A  man  of  good  character  and  habits." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  was  at  the  time  of 
the  murder?" 

"I  do  not." 

"Your  housekeeper — she  has  been  in  your 
employ  a  long  time,  also?" 

"About  two  years." 

"Was  she  well  known  to  the  murdered  man?" 

"Her  acquaintance  began  with  him  at  the 
same  time  as  my  own — less  than  a  month  ago." 

"How  old  is  this  lady?" 


KASTLE   KRAGS  99 

"She  sits  in  the  circle.  You  can  ask  her  if 
you  like.  I  have  never  put  the  question  to  her." 

Every  one  smiled  at  this  sally.  The  house- 
keeper, a  buxom  woman  of  fifty  years,  flushed 
and  giggled  alternately. 

"Where  were  your  other  servants  at  the  time 
of  the  murder?" 

"I  suppose  most  of  them  were  in  bed.  Sam, 
the  negro  boy,  was  in  the  kitchen,  helping  me  to 
serve  my  guests." 

"Then  David  Florey  was  not  on  duty  that 
night?" 

"I  didn't  watch  Mr.  Florey  closely,  Mr.  Wei- 
don.  He  was  the  kind  of  servant  that  didn't 
seem  to  require  watching.  He  helped  me  serve 
some  cold  drinks  immediately  after  dinner.  I 
didn't  see  him  again." 

"You  don't  know  at  what  hour  he  ventured 
out  into  the  lawns?" 

"I  do  not.  I  was  under  the  impression  that 
he  was  in  the  pantry  or  hall  for  several  hours 
after  dinner.  I  can  not  say  definitely." 

"And  now  will  you  describe  the  crime — that 
is,  what  you  yourself  heard  and  saw?" 

"Beginning  where?" 

"At  the  beginning.  Where  you  were,  who 
was  with  you,  and  all  you  can  tell  me." 

"I  was  in  this  room.     I  don't  know  the  exact 


100  KASTLE   KRAGS 

time — it  must  have  been  close  to  midnight.  My 
guests  were  here  with  me." 

"All  of  them?" 

Nealman  paused,  seemingly  considerably  dis*- 
turbed.  "I  can't  say  that  all  of  them  were  in 
my  immediate  sight,"  he  replied  at  last  "My 
guests  were  free  of  the  house — some  of  them 
were  at  the  billiard  tables,  others  in  the  library, 
and  so  on.  I  can  say  definitely  that  Mr.  Mar- 
ten, Mr.  Van  Hope,  and  Mr.  Killdare  were  in  the 
room.  Mr.  Pescini  was  with  us  until  just  before 
we  heard  the  sound." 

"How  long  before?" 

"I  can't  say  for  certain.  It  didn't  seem  to 
me  more  than  a  minute  or  two." 

"You  don't  know  where  the  others  were?" 

"Not  exactly.  I  had  left  Mr.  Fargo  in  the 
billiard  room  a  moment  before.  Major  Dell 
and  Mr.  Nopp  had  been  talking  on  the  veranda." 

"None  of  these  men  indicated  any  previous 
acquaintance  with  the  butler?" 

"None  whatever.  They  were  all  northern 
men,  from  my  own  part  of  the  country." 

"All  of  them  were  your  friends" 

"Yes."  His  face  changed  expression,  ever  so 
little.  "Yes,  of  course." 

"You  four  men  were  in  the  lounging-room — 


KASTLE   KRAGS  101 

and  you  heard  a  certain  sound.  Will  you  de- 
scribe the  sound?" 

"It  was  a  scream — I  can't  describe  it  any 
further." 

"Rather  a  long-drawn  scream,  or  just  a  sharp 
utterance?" 

"I  would  say  it  was  rather  long — and  very 
loud." 

"You  knew  at  once  it  was  the  scream  of  a 
man?" 

"I  thought  at  first  it  might  be  some  wild 
thing — perhaps  a  panther  or  a  lynx — even  a 
water  bird." 

"Yet  it  must  have  been  a  very  distressing 
sound,  was  it  not?  Would  you  say  it  was  a  cry 
of  agony  or  of  fear?" 

"Both.  Yes — I  would  say  it  was  a  cry  of 
both  fear  and  agony." 

"Then  what  did  you  do?  Tell  exactly  what 
happened." 

"We  went  out  to  investigate.  My  other 
guests  ran  out  the  same  time." 

"You  didn't  see  them  run  out?" 

"No,  but  I  met  most  of  them  outside.  At 
such  times  one  doesn't  observe  closely.  We  ran 
down  to  the  shore  of  the  lagoon,  at  the  place 
we've  indicated  to  you,  and  there  we  found 


102  KASTLE   KRAGS 

David  Florey,  lying  dead.  There  was  no  one 
near,  and  no  weapons  were  lying  beside  him — 
at  least  I  didn't  see  any.  He  was  lying  on  his 
side,  and  his  vest  and  shirt  were  torn  and  wet 
with  blood.  Some  of  us  went  at  once  to  tele- 
phone— Mr.  Killdare,  Mr.  Van  Hope,  Mr. 
Nopp  and  myself.  The  others  began  to  beat 
through  the  garden  in,  search  of  the  murderer." 

"No  one  stayed  with  the  body?" 

"No." 

"You're  perfectly  certain  Mr.  Florey  was 
dead,  Mr.  Nealman." 

"I  didn't  dream  of  anything  else  at  the  time, 
Mr.  Weldon.  He  lay  huddled,  his  face  drawn, 
and  certainly  there  was  a  terrible  wound  in  his 
breast." 

"These  men  that  hunted  through  the  gardens 
and  lawns.  Were  they  armed?" 

"Mr.  Marten  had  a  pistol.  The  others  were 
unarmed." 

"They  stayed  close  together?" 

"I  don't  think  they  did.  I  can't  say  for 
sure." 

"Then  what  happened?" 

"We  telephoned,  met  the  searching  party,  and 
all  of  us  went  back  to  the  body.  It  was  gone." 

"No  action  or  word  of  any  of  your  guests 
wakened  your  suspicions?" 


KASTLE   KRAGS  103 

"None  whatever." 

"You  suspect  no  one?" 

"No  one.     I  am  absolutely  in  the  dark." 

"Remember,  as  the  occupant  of  the  house, 
you  are  in  a  better  position  to  give  us  a  right 
steer  than  any  one  else.  I  want  you  to  think 
hard.  You  observed,  at  no  time,  any  suspicious 
circumstances?" 

"None  whatever."  Nealman's  voice  was 
firm. 

"What  weapon,  would  you  say,  inflicted  the 
wound?" 

"I  don't  know.  It  wasn't  a  pistol,  of  course. 
We  didn't  hear  a  shot.  We  didn't  examine  the 
wound  carefully,  but  I  would  say  it  was  some 
metal  instrument,  not  overly  sharp.  It  might 
have  been  a  dull  knife." 

"Would  a  knife  likely  have  torn  the  shirt  and 
vest  as  you  describe?" 

"It  doesn't  seem  likely,  unless  the  murderer 
gave  a  furious,  downward  stroke." 

The  coroner  paused  again,  and  the  room  was 
utterly  silent.  "You  have  never  heard  any 
story,  any  legend — any  set  of  facts  connected 
with  this  house  and  its  occupants  that  might 
explain  the  murder?" 

Nealman  waited  a  long  time  before  he  an- 
swered. "None  that  are  the  least  credible." 


104  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"You've  got  something  on  your  mind,  Neal- 
man.  Credible  or  not,  I  want  to  hear  it." 

"I  can't  bring  myself  to  repeat  such  a  silly 
story.  All  old  houses  have  various  legends. 
This  particular  legend  is  not  worth  hearing." 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Nealman,  but  I  must  be  the 
judge  of  that.  You  have  the  same  as  admitted 
that  the  story  has  occurred  to  your  mind.  What 
was  it,  please?" 

Nealman's  voice  lowered  perceptibly,  and  he 
answered  with  evident  difficulty.  "A  silly  thing 
about  a  buried  treasure — and  a  sea-monster — a 
giant  octopus  or  something  like  that — that  had 
been  set  to  guard  it — in  the  lagoon." 

As  we  waited  we  heard  the  faint  scream  of 
the  plover  on  the  shore  and  the  lapping  waves 
of  the  tide.  Most  of  the  white  men  were  smil- 
ing grimly — the  negroes  were  gray  as  ashes. 

"You  will  admit  that  the  tragedy  of  last 
night,  the  nature  of  the  wound  and  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  body,  brought  the  legend  forc- 
ibly to  your  memory?" 

"I  couldn't  help  but  remember  it,"  Nealman 
answered.  "But  it's  inane  and  silly — just  the 


same." 


CHAPTER   XII 

NEALMAN  was  of  course  the  most  important 
witness.  Further  testimony  was  really  only  in 
corroboration  of  his.  The  coroner  called  on 
Marten  next. 

This  man  spoke  bluntly,  answering  all  ques- 
tions in  a  vigorous,  rather  masterful  voice.  Fi- 
nancier, he  said  simply,  in  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion as  to  his  occupation. 

"You  were  with  Mr.  Nealman  when  you 
heard  Florey's  scream?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  else  was  there?" 

"Mr.  Van  Hope  and  Mr.  Killdare." 

"Do  you  know  the  exact  location  of  any  other 
of  the  guests  at  the  time  of  the  murder?" 

"No,  not  exactly.  They  were  all  in  rooms 
adjoining  the  living-room." 

"You're  sure  of  that?" 

"Practically  sure.  They  came  in  and  out 
every  few  minutes." 

"Did  you  have  any  previous  acquaintance 
with  the  dead  man?" 

105 


106  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"None  whatever." 

In  reply  to  the  coroner's  questions,  he  testi- 
fied as  to  the  finding  of  the  body,  the  nature  of 
the  scream  we  had  heard  and  gave  a  similar 
report  as  to  the  appearance  of  the  wound.  He 
had  observed  no  suspicous  actions  on  the  part  of 
any  one." 

"You  led  the  search,  I  believe,  through  the 
gardens?" 

"Yes." 

"You  were  the  one  man  that  was  armed. 
May  I  ask  how  you  happened  to  have  a  pistol 
in  the  pocket  of  dinner  clothes?" 

"I  was  held  up,  once,"  Marten  replied 
straightforwardly.  "Several  years  ago.  I've 
carried  a  pistol  ever  since." 

The  coroner  nodded.  "Did  your  party  stay 
together  in  searching  the  gardens,  or  did  they 
scatter  out?"  he  asked. 

"We  scattered  out.  We  couldn't  have  hoped 
to  find  any  one  if  we  had  stayed  together.  We 
called  back  and  forth,  however." 

"You  kept  track  of  one  another  all  the 
time?" 

"I  can't  say  that.  The  gardens  and  grounds 
are  large  and  full  of  shrubbery." 

"The  search  lasted — how  long?" 

"Only  a  few  minutes." 


KASTLEKRAGS  107 

The  coroner  dismissed  him  at  this  point,  call- 
ing on  Mr.  Van  Hope.  The  latter  told  of  his 
long  acquaintance  with  Nealman,  and  verified  in 
every  detail  the  story  that  his  friend  had  told. 

"And  where  were  you,  Mr.  Dell,  when  the 
scream  was  heard?"  the  coroner  asked. 

"In  the  library,"  was  the  reply.  Major  Dell 
spoke  evenly,  but  his  keen,  flushed  face  showed 
that  he  was  taking  the  most  keen  and  lively  in- 
terest in  the  proceedings. 

"Why  weren't  you  with  the  others  in  the 
party?" 

"We  were  all  running  all  over  the  house.  I 
was  trying  to  find  Mr.  Nealman's  copy  of  Jor- 
dan's work  on  fish.  Fargo  and  I  had  got  into 
an  argument  about  black  bass." 

"Mr.  Fargo  was  not  with  you  at  the  time?" 

"I  was  alone.  I  had  left  Mr.  Fargo  at  the 
billiard  table." 

Weldon's  voice  changed  in  tone.  "And  how 
did  the  argument  come  out,  may  I  ask." 

Major  Dell  smiled  dryly.  "It  isn't  concluded 
yet,"  he  said. 

The  coroner  paused,  then  took  a  new  tack. 
"You  heard  the  sound  distinctly?" 

"Distinctly,  but  probably  not  so  clearly  as 
Mr.  Nealman  heard  it.  The  library  is  back  of 
the  lounging-room." 


108  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"Then  what  did  you  do?" 

"I  ran  outside.     I  joined  Nealman  and  some 

of  the  other  guests  on  the   grounds,   and  went 

down  with  them   to  investigate." 

"You    took    part    in    the    hunt    through    the 

grounds?" 

"Yes.     I  beat  back  and  forth  with  the  rest." 
"And  saw  or  heard  nothing  suspicious?" 
"Something  moved  in   the  shrubbery,  but  we 

couldn't  locate  it.     Nealman  thought  afterward 

it  was  a  racoon  or  some  other  small  animal." 
"You  knew  Mr.  Florey?" 
"I  had  never  set  eyes  upon  him  before." 
"You've    had    long    acquaintance    with    Mr. 

Nealman,  however?" 

Major  Dell  hesitated,  just  an  instant.     "No. 

I  had  never  met  Mr.  Nealman  until  last  night." 
The     coroner's     interest     quickened.       "You 

didn't?      How  did  you   happen   to   be   included 

among  his  guests?" 

"I  was  a  great  friend  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Van 

Hope.     I  was  invited  through  his  kindness.     He 

wanted   me   to   have    a    taste    of    shooting    and 

fishing." 

"What  is  your  occupation,  Mr.  Dell?" 

"I  am  interested  in  finance,  in  a  modest  way." 

"You  saw,    heard   or   knew   of   nothing   con- 


KASTLE   KRAGS  109 

nected  with  this  murder  that  you  haven't 
testified." 

"No."  Dell  paused,  considering.  "Nothing, 
I'm  sure." 

"I  say  'murder.'  Testimony  has  gone  to 
show  that  Florey  was  dead,  not  just  severely 
wounded,  when  you  and  the  others  reached  his 
side.  Mr.  Dell,  do  you  think  there  is  any  pos- 
sibility that  life  remained  in  his  body  when  you 
saw  him  beside  the  inlet?" 

Dell  spoke  clearly.  "None  whatever,"  he 
said. 

"You  speak  very  sure." 

"I  am  sure.  I've  seen  too  many  dead  men 
ever  to  make  a  mistake.  The  position  of  the 
body,  the  features — everything  told  it  as  plain 
as  day." 

The  coroner  leaned  forward.  His  eyes 
gleamed.  "And  where  and  how  did  you  happen 
to  see  all  these  dead  men,  may  I  ask?" 

There  was  an  instant's  second  of  strain 
throughout  the  room.  All  of  us,  I  think,  were 
siding  with  Major  Dell — from  the  sheer  in- 
stinctive distrust  of  constituted  authority  that 
seems  to  be  implanted  in  our  bodies  at  birth. 
Dell  looked  down,  and  his  face  was  gray. 

"In  the  Argonne,"  he  said,  quietly.  The 
room  was  deathly  still. 


110  KASTLE   KRAGS 

Fargo,  called  immediately  after,  testified  as 
to  his  argument  with  Dell  as  to  the  nature  of 
black  bass.  Dell  had  left  him,  he  said,  to  go 
into  the  library. 

"You  were  alone  in  the  billiard  room  when 
you  heard  the  cry?" 

"Yes.  But  I  ran  outdoors  and  joined  the 
others." 

Van  Hope  testified  as  to  his  acquaintance 
with  Major  Dell,  saying  that  they  had  known 
each  other  for  several  months,  and  that  Dell 
belonged  to  one  of  his  clubs.  He  verified  Neal- 
man's  story  perfectly. 

"And  what  is  your  occupation,  Mr.  Pescini?" 
the  coroner  asked. 

"I  am  in  the  publishing  business,  in  New 
York." 

"You  have  a  long  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Nealman?" 

"Something  over  four  years." 

"Where  were  you  when  you  heard  David 
Florey  scream?" 

"On  the  veranda." 

"Alone?" 

"Yes,  alone.  I  had  been  with  Mr.  Van  Hope 
and  Nealman  a  few  moments  before.  I  was 
rather  hot,  and  I  went  out  on  the  veranda  for 
a  breath  of  air.  I  rushed  out  toward  the 


KASTLE   KRAGS  111 

sound,  and  Nealman  and  his  party  caught  up 
with  me." 

He  testified  that  he  had  taken  part  in  the 
search,  and  was  utterly  baffled  as  to  the  solution 
of  the  mystery. 

Nopp  was  in  the  music  room,  he  said,  looking 
for  a  certain  record  that  he  wished  his  friends 
to  hear.  He  had  been  in  the  billiard  room  a 
few  seconds  before.  He  had  heard  the  cry  but 
faintly,  and  had  not  been  especially  alarmed. 
The  shouts  of  the  other  guests,  he  said,  rather 
than  the  scream  of  the  dying  man,  had  caused 
him  to  rush  out  and  join  in  the  investigation. 
He  had  known  Nealman)  a  long  time,  was  an 
architect  by  profession,  and  had  been  one  of 
those  to  partake  in  the  hunt  through  the 
gardens. 

Last  of  all  the  white  men,  he  called  on  me. 
I  told  of  my  relations  with  Nealman,  the  work 
I  had  been  hired  to  do  and,  my  own  reactions 
to  the  fearful  scream  in  the  darkness.  I  had 
been  with  Marten,  Van  Hope  and  Nealman  and 
had  sent  through  the  calls  to  Ochakee. 

"You  saw  or  heard  nothing  beyond  that 
which  these  other  gentlemen  have  testified?" 

"Nothing  at  all,"  I  answered. 

"You  have  made  no  subsequent  discoveries?" 

Just  for  a  moment  I  was  silent,  conjecturing 


112  KASTLE   KRAGS 

what  my  answer  should  be.  Was  I  to  tell  of 
the  cryptogram  I  had  found  beside  the  body, 
and  its  theft  during  the  night? 

I  couldn't  see  how  the  least  good  would  come 
of  it.  Indeed,  if  last  night's  intruder  was  in  the 
room,  listening  to  my  testimony,  he  would  be 
very  glad  to  kno.w  if  I  had  discovered  the  theft. 
I  had  resolved  to  work  out  the  case  in  my  own 
way,  employing  the  methods  of  a  naturalist,  and 
these  agents  of  the  law  were  not  my  allies. 

"Nothing  has  come  to  my  observation,"  I 
told  him  simply. 

If  he  had  pressed  the  matter  he  might  have 
got  the  admission  out  of  me;  but  fortunately  he 
turned  to  other  subjects. 

There  was  quite  a  little  stir  of  interest 
throughout  the  circle  when  he  began  to  question 
Edith.  None  of  us  will  forget  the  picture  of 
that  golden  head,  graced  by  the  sunlight  slant- 
ing through  the  leaded  panes  of  the  window, 
the  flushed,  lovely  face,  the  frank  eyes  and  the 
girlish  figure,  lost  in  the  big  chair.  She  was  in 
such  contrast  to  the  rest  of  us.  Except  for 
the  housekeeper,  buxom  and  fifty,  she  was  the 
only  white  woman  present;  and  she  could  have 
been  the  daughter  of  any  one  of  the  gray  men 
'"i  the  circle. 

She   had  gone   to  her  room   about  ten,   she 


KASTLE   KRAGS  113 

said,  and  had  read  for  perhaps  an  hour.  Her 
room  was  just  over  the  front  hall.  About  eleven 
she  went  to  bed,  and  the  coroner's  questions 
brought  out  the  interesting  fact  that  seemingly 
she  had  been  the  last  of  the  household — unless 
the  murderer  himself  was  to  be  included  thus — 
to  have  seen  Florey  alive.  Her  bed  stood  just 
beside  the  front  window,  and  just  before  she 
had  retired  she  had  seen  him  walking  out 
toward  the  lagoon. 

The  whole  circle,  tired  of  the  dull  testimony 
of  the  past  hour,  leaned  forward  in  rapt  atten- 
tion. "He  was  alone?"  the  coroner  asked. 

"Yes.  I  think  I  heard  the  door  close  behind 
him — I'm  not  sure.  Then  I  saw  his  form  in 
the  moonlight  on  the  front  lawn." 

"You  recognized  him  at  once?" 

"Not  at  once.  I  thought  perhaps  it  was  one 
of  the  guests.  But  in  a  bright  patch  of  moon- 
light I  saw  him  plain." 

"Where  did  he  go?" 

"He  turned  down  the  driveway  toward  the 
lagoon.  I  didn't  see  him  again." 

At  the  sound  of  the  piercing  scream  she  got 
up  and  put  on  a  dressing-gown,  but  she  did  not 
come  down  at  once.  She  was  afraid,  she  said — 
she  didn't  know  what  to  do.  She  had  no  knowl- 
edge as  to  the  activities  and  the  positions  of  the 


114  KASTLE   KRAGS 

other  members  of  the  household  at  the  time  of 
the  crime. 

She  had  come  to  work  as  her  uncle's  secretary 
but  a  few  weeks  before;  and  she  verified  per- 
fectly Nealman's  testimony  in  regard  to  the 
dead  servant.  If  he  had  had  enemies  in  the 
household  she  had  not  been  aware  of  it,  she 
knew  of  no  chronic  malady,  and  she  did  not 
think  that  he  carried  any  large  amount  of  money 
on  his  person.  The  scream  had  seemed  to  her 
to  be  one  of  unfathomable  fear. 

The  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Gentry,  was  the  last 
of  the  white  people  to  be  called  upon;  and  her 
testimony  threw  no  new  light  upon  the  problem. 
She  was  in  bed  and  asleep,  and  the  shouts  of 
the  men  without  had  wakened  her. 

The  coroner  called  on  the  negroes  in  turn, 
and  I  was  a  little  amazed  at  the  ease  with  which 
he  wrung  their  testimony  out  of  them.  He  knew 
these  dark  people:  no  northern  man  could  have 
hoped  to  have  been  so  successful.  Sometimes 
he  shouted  at  them  as  if  in  fury,  sometimes  he 
wheedled  or  jested  with  them. 

Not  one  of  them  but  could  prove  an  alibi.  They 
were  all  in  their  own  quarters,  they  said,  at  the 
moment  of  the  tragedy.  Because  this  was  the 
South  and  they  were  black,  they  did  not  know 
Florey,  a  white  man,  very  well.  And  they  had 


KASTLE   KRAGS  115 

all  been  frightened  nearly  out  of  their  wits  by 
the  events  of  the  night. 

One  by  one  he  questioned  them,  but  the  in- 
quest ended  just  as  it  began — with  the  affair  of 
Florey's  murder  as  great  a  mystery  as  ever.  At 
the  end  of  the  fatiguing  afternoon  we  were 
face  to  face  with  the  baffling  fact  that  only  four 
men  had  proven  satisfactory  alibis — Lemuel 
Marten,  Van  Hope,  Nealman  and  myself — and 
that  any  one  of  the  dozen  or  more  men  and 
women  in  that  great,  rambling  house  might  have 
done  the  deed. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Two  telegrams  had  come  for  Mr.  Nealman 
during  the  inquest;  but  the  negro  messenger 
who  had  brought  them  had  been  too  frightened 
by  the  august  session  in  the  living-room  to  dis- 
turb him.  It  came  about  that  Nealman  didn't 
get  them  until  he  and  Van  Hope  left  the  room 
together. 

The  yellow  envelopes  were  lying  on  a  little 
table  in  the  hall,  and  Nealman  started,  per- 
ceptibly, at  the  sight  of  them.  Except  for  that 
nervous  reflex  through  his  body  I  wouldn't  have 
given  the  messages  a  second  thought.  Nealman 
picked  them  up,  and  still  carrying  on  a  frag- 
mentary conversation  with  his  friend,  tore  out 
the  messages. 

He  did  not  merely  tear  off  the  edges.  In  his 
eagerness  his  clawing  fingers  ripped  the  en- 
velopes wide  open,  endangering  the  messages 
themselves  within.  He  opened  one  of  them, 
and  his  eye  leaped  over  the  script. 

He  took  one  curious,  short  breath,  then 
opened  the  second  message,  more  carefully  now. 

116 


KASTLE   KRAGS  117 

Then  he  crowded  both  of  them  into  his  outer 
coat  pocket. 

At  that  point  his  conversation  with  Van  Hope 
took  a  curious  trend.  He  still  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  talk  in  his  usual  casual  voice;  yet  a 
preoccupation  so  deep,  so  engrossing  was  upon 
him  that  his  friend's  words  must  have  seemed 
to  reach  him  from  another  sphere.  It  was  a 
brave  effort;  but  his  disjointed  sentences,  his 
blurred  perceptions,  told  the  truth  only  too 
plainly. 

Nealman  had  received  disastrous  news.  His 
lips  were  smiling,  but  his  eyes  were  filled  with 
some  alien  light.  What  that  light  was  neither 
Van  Hope  nor  I  could  tell.  It  might  have  been 
frenzy.  Quite  likely  it  was  fear. 

"Bad  news,  old  man?"  Van  Hope  blurted  out 
at  last,  impulsively.  They  were  old  friends — 
he  was  risking  the  charge  of  ill-bred  curiosity  to 
offer  sympathy  to  the  other. 

"Not  very  good,  old  man.  I'll  see  you  later 
about  it.  If  you'll  excuse  me  I'll  go  to  my  room 
— and  answer  'em." 

He  turned  up  the  stairs — Van  Hope  walked 
out  onto  the  verandas.  I  waited  for  Edith,  and 
in  a  moment  we  were  walking  under  the  mag- 
nolias, listening  to  the  twilight  boomings  of  a 
bittern  on  the  lagoon. 


118  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  I  asked  her. 

No  human  memory  could  forget  her  lustrous 
eyes,  solemn  and  yet  lighted  by  the  beauty  of 
her  thoughts,  as  she  gazed  out  over  the  waters, 
troubled  by  the  flowing  tide. 

"I  can't  make  anything  out  of  it,"  she  told 
me  at  last.  "It  doesn't  seem  to  make  good  sense. 
Yet  there  have  been  hundreds  of  more  baffling 
mysteries,  and  they  all  were  cleared  up  at  last. 
Cleared  up  intelligently,  too,  if  you  know  what 
I  mean." 

"You  mean — with  credible  motives  and  ac- 
tions behind  them." 

"Yes,  and  human  actions.  I'm  thinking  about 
— you  know  what.  Human  agents  were  the 
only  agents  in  this  crime.  In  the  end  it  will 
prove  out  that  way." 

"Then  you  aren't  at  all  superstitious  about — 
this."  I  indicated  that  eery,  desolate  lagoon 
with  its  craggy  margin,  stretching  away  like  a 
ghost-lake  in  the  gray  light.  As  always  the 
tidal  waves  were  bursting  with  ferocious,  lung- 
ing onslaughts  on  the  natural  rock  wall,  and 
the  foam  gleamed  incredibly  white  against  the 
dark  water. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  she  answered  me.  "I 
don't  like  the  place  when  the  tide's  rolling  in — 
it's  too  rough  and  too  fierce — but  it's  lovely  in 


KASTLE   KRAGS  119 

the  ebb  tide !  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  still 
as  it  is  then — the  water's  edge  creeping  inward, 
and  such  a  wonderful  blue-green?  No,  I'm  not 
superstitious  about  it  at  all.  I'm  going  swim- 
ming, one  of  these  nights,  when  the  tide's  going 
out.  I'd  cross  it  to-night  in  an  emergency." 

"You're  a  strong  swimmer,   then." 

"I  can  swim  well  enough — nothing  to  boast 
of  though.  Ned" — for  we  had  got  to  the  first 
name  stage,  long  since — "this  whole  matter  will 
be  cleared  up  in  a  few  days  more.  Such  things 
always  do  come  out  right.  I  wouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  that  poor  man's  body  should  be  found 
any  day,  dragged  into  some  thicket.  The  rocks 
are  full  of  caves — perhaps  the  drag  hooks  sim- 
ply failed  to  find  it." 

"And  your  uncle — he  feels  the  way  you  do?" 

"Of  course.  If  you  are  talking  about  that 
silly  legend — it  gives  him  only  the  keenest  de- 
light as  a  big  story  to  tell  his  friends.  He  has 
no  more  superstitious  fear  about  this  lagoon 
than  I  have." 

"Have  you  talked  to  him  since  the  inquest?" 

"You  know  I  haven't." 

"He  got  two  telegrams  to-day.  They  seemed 
to  go  mighty  hard  with  him.  I  was  wondering 
— whether  you  ought  to  go  to  him  now." 

A  little  line  came  between  her  straight  brows. 


120  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"I  can't  imagine  what  they  could  be "  she 

said. 

"The  loss  of  some  friend?  Financial  loss, 
perhaps ?" 

"I  don't  know.  The  latter,  if  anything.  For 
I  do  know  he's  been  buying  certain  stocks — 
awfully  heavy." 

"Playing  the  stock  market,   eh ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  should  have  told  you  that. 
But  I  know  you  won't  say  anything  about  it. 
Oh,  I  do  hope  he  hasn't  had  any  real 
misfortune " 

Our  talk  veered  to  other  subjects,  and  for 
a  while  we  stood  and  watched  the  twilight  de- 
scending over  the  lagoon.  The  crags  were  never 
so  mysterious.  They  seemed  to  take  weird 
shapes  in  the  half-light,  and  the  water  sucked 
and  lapped  about  their  stony  feet. 

In  a  little  while  her  hand  stole  into  mine.  It 
rested  softly,  and  neither  of  us  felt  the  need  of 
words.  The  twilight  deepened  into  that  pale 
darkness  of  the  early  Floridan  night. 

"How  I'd  like  to  help  him,  if  he's  in  trou- 
ble," she  said  at  last,  almost  whispering.  "And 
how  I'd  like  to  help  you — do  all  the  things  you 
want  to  do." 

"I'm  glad — that  you   care  about  it,"   I   told 


KASTLE   KRAGS  121 

her,  not  daring  to  look  down  into  that  sober, 
wistful  face. 

"I  do  care  about  it,"  she  declared.  She  bent, 
until  her  lips  were  close  to  my  ear.  "And  I 
believe  I  see  the  way." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

NEALMAJST  did  not  come  down  to  dinner.  He 
sent  his  apologies  to  the  guests,  pleading  a  head- 
ache, and  through  some  mayhap  of  circumstance 
the  coroner  took  his  place  at  the  head  of  the 
great,  red-mahogany  table.  There  was  a  grim 
symbolism  in  the  thing.  No  one  mentioned  it, 
not  one  of  those  aristocratic  sportsmen  were 
calloused  enough  to  jest  about  it,  but  we  all  felt 
it  in  the  secret  places  of  our  souls. 

The  session  at  Kastle  Krags  was  no  longer 
one  of  revelry.  I  could  fancy  the  wit,  the  rep- 
artee, the  gaiety  and  laughter  that  had  reigned 
over  the  board  the  evening  previous;  but  Neal- 
man's  guests  were  a  sober  group  to-night.  At 
the  unspoken  dictates  of  good  taste  no  man 
talked  of  last  night's  tragedy.  Rather  the  men 
talked  quietly  to  one  another  or  else  sat  in  si- 
lence. A  burly  negro,  rigged  out  in  a  dinner 
coat  of  ancient  vintage,  helped  with  the  serving 
in  Florey's  place. 

After  dinner  I  halted  the  sheriff  in  the  hall, 
and  we  had  a  single  moment  of  conversation. 
"Slatterly,"  I  said,  "I  want  you  to  give  me  some 
authority." 

122 


KASTLE   KRAGS  123 

"You  do,  eh?"  He  paused,  studying  my 
face.  "What  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"I  want  your  permission — to  go  about  this 
house  and  grounds  where  and  when  I  want  to — 
and  no  complications  in  case  I  am  caught  at  it. 
Maybe  even  go  into  some  of  the  private  rooms 
and  effects  of  the  guests.  I  want  to  follow  up 
some  ideas  that  I  have  in  mind." 

"And  when  do  you  want  to  do  it?" 

"Any  time  the  opportunity  offers.  I'm  not 
going  to  do  anything  indiscreet.  I  won't  get 
in  your  way.  But  I'm  deeply  interested  in  this 
thing,  I've  had  scientific  training,  and  I  want  to 
see  if  I  can't  do  some  good." 

His  eyes  swept  once  from  my  shoes  to  my 
head.  "From  amateur  detectives,  as  a  rule — 
Good  Lord  deliver  us,"  he  said  with  quiet  good 
humor.  "But  Killdare — I  don't  see  why  you 
shouldn't.  Two  heads  are  better  than  one — 
and  I  don't  seem  to  be  getting  anywhere. 
Really,  the  more  intelligent  help  we  can  get — 
from  people  we  can  co-operate  with,  of  course 
— the  better." 

"I'm  free,  then,  to  go  ahead?" 

"Of  course  with  reasonable  limits.  But  ask 
my  advice  before  you  make  any  accusations — or 
do  anything  rash." 

By   previous    arrangement    Mrs.    Gentry,    the 


124  KASTLE   KRAGS 

housekeeper,  was  waiting  for  me  on  the  upper 
floor.  There  could  be  no  better  chance  to 
search  the  guests'  rooms.  All  of  the  men  were 
on  the  lower  floor,  smoking  their  after-dinner 
cigars  and  talking  in  little  groups  in  the  loung- 
ing-room  and  the  veranda.  Of  course  Nealman 
was  in  h,is  room,  but  even  had  he  been  absent, 
a  decent  sense  of  restraint  would  have  kept  me 
from  his  threshold.  And  of  course  Marten  and 
Van  Hope  had  established  perfect  alibis  at  the 
inquest. 

We  entered  Fargo's  room  first.  It  was  clut- 
tered with  his  bags,  his  guns  and  rods,  but  the 
thing  I  was  seeking  did  not  reveal  itself.  I 
looked  in  the  inner  pockets  of  his  coat,  in  the 
drawers  of  his  desk,  even  in  the  waste-paper 
basket  without  result.  Such  personal  documents 
as  Fargo  had  with  him  were  evidently  on  his 
person  at  that  moment. 

Nopp's  room  was  next,  but  I  was  less  than 
twenty  seconds  across  his  threshold.  He  had 
been  writing  a  letter,  it  lay  open  on  his  desk,  and 
I  needed  to  glance  but  once  at  the  script.  If 
my  theory  was  right  Nopp  could  be  permanently 
dropped  from  the  list  of  suspects  of  Florey's 
murder. 

But  the  next  room  yielded  a  clew  of  seem- 
ingly inestimable  importance.  After  the  drawers 


KASTLE   KRAGS  125 

had  been  opened  and  searched,  and  the  desk 
examined  with  minute  care,  I  searched  the  inner 
pocket  of  a  white  linen  coat  that  the  occupant 
of  the  room  had  worn  at  the  time  of  his  ar- 
rival. In  it  I  found  a  letter,  addressed  to  some 
New  York  firm,  sealed,  stamped,  and  ready  to 
send. 

How  familiar  was  the  bold,  free  hand  in 
which  the  address  was  written!  Not  a  little 
excited,  I  compared  it  with  the  script  of  the 
"George"  letter  I  had  taken  from  Florey's 
room.  As  far  as  my  inexperienced  eye  could 
tell  the  handwriting  was  identical. 

The  room  was  that  of  Lucious  Pescini.  If  I 
had  not  been  mistaken  in  the  handwriting,  I 
had  proven  a  previous  relationship  and  ac- 
quaintance, extending  practically  over  the  whole 
lifetime  of  both  men,  between  the  distinguished, 
bearded  man  that  came  as  Nealman's  guest  and 
the  gray  butler  who  had  died  on  the  lagoon 
shore  the  previous  night. 

I  put  the  letter  back  in  the  man's  coat-pocket; 
then  joined  Mrs.  Gentry  in  the  hall.  She  went 
to  her  own  room.  I  turned  down  the  broad 
stairs  to  the  hall.  And  the  question  before  me 
now  was  whether  to  report  my  discovery  to  the 
officials  of  the  law. 

I  had  started  down  the  stairs  with  the  inten- 


126  KASTLE   KRAGS 

tion  of  telling  them  all  I  knew.  By  the  time  I 
had  reached  the  hall  I  had  begun  to  have  seri- 
ous doubts  as  to  the  wisdom  of  such  a  course. 
After  all  I  had  learned  nothing  conclusive. 
Handwriting  evidence  is  at  best  uncertain;  even 
experts  have  made  mistakes  in  comparing  sig- 
natures. In  this  regard  it  was  quite  different 
from  finger-prints — those  tell-tale  stains  that 
never  lie.  True,  the  handwriting  looked  iden- 
tical to  the  naked  eye,  but  a  microscope  might 
prove  it  entirely  dissimilar.  Was  I  to  cast  sus- 
picion on  a  distinguished  man  on  such  fragile 
and  uncertain  grounds? 

Pescini  had  been  in  the  lounging-room  only 
a  few  minutes  before  the  crime  was  committed. 
It  seemed  doubtful  that  he  would  have  had  time 
to  cover  the  distance  between  the  house  and  the 
lagoon,  strike  Florey  low,  and  get  back  to  the 
place  where  we  met  him  in  the  short  time  of  his 
absence. 

Besides,  I  wanted  to  work  alone.  I  couldn't 
bring  myself  to  share  my  discoveries  with  Slat- 
terly  and  Weldon. 

The  hall  below  was  deserted  and  half  in 
darkness.  I  met  Marten  and  Nopp  on  the  way 
to  their  rooms:  passing  into  the  library  I  found 
Hal  Fargo  seated  under  a  reading-lamp,  deep 
in  "Floridan  fauna."  Major  Dell  was  smok- 


KASTLEKRAGS  127 

ing  quietly  on  the  veranda,  gazing  out  over  the 
moonlit  lawns.  Van  Hope  and  Pescini  himself 
were  seated  at  the  far  end  of  the  lounging- 
room,  evidently  in  earnest  conversation. 

I  sat  down  across  the  room  where  from  time 
to  time  I  could  glance  up  and  observe  the 
bearded  face  of  my  suspect.  How  animated  he 
was,  how  effective  the  gestures  of  his  firm, 
strong  hands.  Was  that  the  hand  I  had  seen  in 
the  flash-light  over  my  table  the  preceding 
night?  He  had  rather  thin,  esthetic  lips,  half 
concealed  by  his  mustache.  Yet  it  wasn't  a  cruel 
or  degenerate  face. 

But  soon  I  forgot  about  Pescini  to  marvel  at 
the  growing,  oppressive  heat  of  the  night.  The 
chill  that  usually  drops  over  the  West  coast  in 
the  first  hours  of  darkness,  did  not  manifest 
itself  to-night.  It  was  the  kind  of  heat  that 
brings  a  flush  to  the  face  and  a  ghastly  crawling 
to  the  brain,  swelling  the  neck  glands  until  the 
linen  collar  chokes  like  strangling  fingers,  and 
heightens  the  temper  clear  to  the  explosion- 
point.  Van  Hope  and  Pescini  tore  at  their  col- 
lars, seemingly  at  first  unaware  as  to  the  source 
of  their  discomfort. 

In  reality  the  heat  wave  had  overspread  us 
rather  swiftly,  and  what  was  its  source  and  by 
what  siftings  of  the  air  currents  it  had  been  sent 


128  KASTLE   KRAGS 

to  harry  us  was  mostly  beyond  the  wit  of  man 
to  tell.  The  temperature  must  have  been  close 
to  a  hundred  in  that  big,  coolly  furnished  room, 
and  the  veranda  outside  seemed  to  offer  no 
relief.  The  dim  warmth  from  the  electric  lights 
above,  added  to  the  sweltering  heat  of  the  air, 
was  wholly  perceptible  on  the  heated  brain,  and 
seemed  to  stretch  the  over-taut  nerves  to  the 
breaking-point. 

"Isn't  this  the  devil?"  Van  Hope  exclaimed 
as  I  came  out.  "It  wasn't  half  so  hot  at  sunset. 
For  Heaven's  sake  let's  have  a  drink." 

"Whiskey'd  only  make  us  hotter,  would  it 
not?" 

"The  English  don't  think  so— but  they're  full 
of  weird  ideas.  Have  that  big  coon  bring  us 
some  lemonade  then — iced  tea — anything.  This 
is  the  kind  of  night  that  sets  men  crazy." 

Men  who  have  spent  July  in  India,  when  the 
humidity  is  on  the  land,  could  appreciate  such 
heat,  but  it  passed  ordinary  understanding.  It 
harassed  the  brain  and  fevered  the  blood,  and 
warned  us  all  of  lawless  demons  that  lived  just 
under  our  skins.  A  man  wouldn't  be  respon- 
sible, to-night.  The  devil  inside  of  him,  recog- 
nizing a  familiar  temperature,  escaped  his  bonds 
and  stood  ready  to  take  any  advantage  of 
openings. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  129 

It  was  a  curious  thing  that  there  was  no  per- 
ceptible wind  over  the  lagoon.  Perhaps  the 
reason  was  that  we  invariably  associate  wind 
with  coolness,  rather  than  any  sort  of  a  hushed 
movement  of  the  air — and  the  impulse  that 
brushed  up  on  the  veranda  to  us  was  as  warm  as 
a  child's  breath  on  the  face.  There  was  simply 
no  whisper  of  sound  on  shore  or  sea  or  forest. 
The  curlews  were  stilled,  the  wild  creatures  were 
likely  lying  motionless,  trying  to  escape  the  heat, 
the  little  rustlings  and  murmurings  of  stirring 
vegetation  was  gone  from  the  gardens.  But 
that  first  silence,  remarkable  enough,  seemed  to 
deepen  as  we  waited. 

There  is  a  point,  in  temperature,  that  seems 
the  utter  limit  of  cold.  Mushers  along  certain 
trails  in  the  North  had  known  that  point — when 
there  seems  simply  no  heat  left  in  the  bitter, 
crackling,  biting  air.  The  temperature,  at  such 
times,  registers  forty — fifty — sixty  below.  Yet 
the  scientist,  in  his  laboratory,  with  his  liquid 
hydrogen  vaporizing  in  a  vacuum,  can  show 
that  this  temperature  is  not  the  beginning  of 
the  fearful  scale  of  cold.  To-night  it  was  the 
same  way  with  the  silence.  There  simply  seemed 
no  sound  left.  But  as  we  waited  the  silence 
grew  and  swelled  until  the  brain  ceased  to  be- 
lieve the  senses  and  the  image  of  reality  was 


130  KASTLE   KRAGS 

gone.  It  gave  you  the  impression  of  being  fast 
asleep  and  in  a  dream  that  might  easily  turn  to 
death. 

The  mind  kept  dwelling  on  death.  It  was  a 
great  deal  more  plausible  than  life.  The  image 
of  life  was  gone  from  that  bleak  manor  house 
by  the  sea — the  sea  was  dead,  the  air,  all  the 
elements  by  which  men  view  their  lives.  The 
forest,  lost  in  its  silence,  its  most  whispered 
voices  stilled,  was  a  dead  forest,  incompre- 
hensible as  living. 

I  went  upstairs  soon  after.  I  thought  it 
might  be  cooler  there.  Sometimes,  if  you  go  a 
few  feet  off  the  ground,  you  find  it  cooler — 
quite  in  opposition  to  the  fact  that  hot  air  rises. 
There  was  no  appreciable  difference,  however; 
but  here,  at  least,  I  could  take  off  my  outer 
clothes.  Then  I  got  into  a  dressing-gown  and 
slippers  and  waited,  with  a  breathlessness  and 
impatience  not  quite  healthy  and  normal,  for 
the  late  night  sea  breeze  to  spring  up. 

Seemingly  it  had  been  delayed.  The  hour 
was  past  eleven,  the  sweltering  heat  still  re- 
mained. There  was  no  way  under  Heaven  to 
pass  the  time.  One  couldn't  read,  for  the  rea- 
son that  the  mental  effort  of  following  the  lines 
of  type  was  incomprehensibly  fatiguing.  I  had 
neither  the  energy  nor  the  interest  to  work  upon 


KASTLE   KRAGS  131 

the  cryptogram — that  baffling  column  of  four- 
lettered  words.  Yet  the  brain  was  inordinately 
active.  Ungoverned  thought  swept  through  it 
in  ordered  trains,  in  sudden,  lunging  waves,  and 
in  swirling  eddies.  Yet  the  thoughts  were  not 
clean-cut,  wholly  true — they  overlapped  with 
the  bizarre  and  elfin  impulses  of  the  fancy,  and 
the  fine  edge  of  discrimination  between  reality 
and  dreams  was  some  way  dulled.  It  wasn't 
easy  to  hold  the  brain  in  perfect  bondage. 

To  that  fact  alone  I  try  to  ascribe  the  curi- 
ous flood  of  thoughts  that  swept  me  in  those 
midnight  hours.  Except  for  the  heat,  perhaps 
in  a  measure  for  the  silence,  I  wouldn't  have 
known  them  at  all.  I  got  to  thinking  about  last 
night's  crime,  and  I  couldn't  get  it  out  of  mind. 
The  conceptions  I  had  formed  of  it,  the  theories 
and  decisions,  seemed  less  and  less  convincing 
as  I  sat  overlooking  those  shadowed,  silent 
grounds.  So  much  depends  on  the  point  of 
view.  Ordinarily,  our  will  gives  us  strength  to 
believe  wholly  what  we  want  to  believe  and 
nothing  else.  But  the  powers  of  the  will  were 
unstable  to-night,  the  whole  seat  of  being  was 
shaken,  and  my  fine  theories  in  regard  to  Pes- 
cini  seemed  to  lack  the  stuff  of  truth.  I  suppose 
every  man  present  provided  some  satisfactory 
theory  to  fit  the  facts,  for  no  other  reason  than 


132  KASTLE   KRAGS 

that  we  didn't  want  to  change  our  conception  of 
Things  as  They  Are.  Such  a  course  was  essen- 
tial to  our  own  self-comfort  and  security.  But 
my  Pescini  theory  seemed  far-fetched.  In  that 
silence  and  that  h,eat,  anything  could  be  true  at 
Kastle  Krags ! 

From  this  point  my  mind  led  logically  to  the 
most  disquieting  and  fearful  thing  of  all.  What 
was  to  prevent  last  night's  crime  from  recurring? 

It  isn't  hard  to  see  the  basis  for  such  a 
thought.  Some  way,  in  these  last,  stifling,  al- 
most maddening  hours,  it  had  become  difficult 
to  rely  implicitly  on  our  rational  interpretation 
of  things.  Certain  things  are  credible  to  the 
every-day  man  in  the  every-day  mood — things 
such  as  aeronautics  and  wireless,  that  to  a  sav- 
age mind  would  seem  a  thousand  times  more 
incredible  than  mere  witch-craft  and  magic — 
and  certain  things  simply  can  not  and  will  not 
be  believed.  Society  itself,  our  laws,  our  cus- 
toms, our  basic  attitude  towards  life  depends  on 
a  fine  balance  of  what  is  credible  and  what  is 
pot,  an  imperious  disbelief  in  any  manifestation 
out  of  the  common  run  of  things.  It  is  alto- 
gether good  for  society  when  this  can  be  so. 
Men  can  not  rise  up  from  savagery  until  it  is 
so.  As  long  as  black  magic  and  witchcraft 
haunt  the  souls  of  men,  there  is  nothing  to  trust, 


KASTLEKRAGS  133 

nothing  to  hpld  to  or  build  towards,  nothing 
permanent  or  infallible  on  which  to  rely,  and 
hope  can  not  escape  from  fear,  and  there  is  no 
promise  that  to-day's  work  will  stand  till  to- 
morrow. Men  are  far  happier  when  they  may 
master  their  own  beliefs.  There  is  nothing  so 
destructive  to  happiness,  so  favorable  to  the 
dominion  of  Fear,  as  an  indiscriminate  credu- 
lity. Those  African  explorers  who  have  seen 
the  curse  of  fear  in  the  Congo  tribes  need  not 
be  told  this  fact. 

But  to-night  this  fine  scorn  of  the  supernat- 
ural and  the  bizarre  was  some  way  gone  from 
my  being.  It  wasn't  so  easy  to  reject  them  now. 
Those  hide-and-seek,  half-glimpsed,  eerie  phan- 
tasies that  are  hidden  deep  in  every  man's  sub- 
conscious mind  were  in  the  ascendancy  to-night. 
They  had  been  implanted  in  the  germ-plasm  a 
thousand  thousand  generations  gone,  they  were 
a  dim  and  mystic  heritage  from  the  childhood 
days  of  the  race,  the  fear  and  the  dreads  and 
horrors  of  those  dark  forests  of  countless  thou- 
sands of  years  ago,  and  they  still  lie  like  a 
shadow  over  the  fear-cursed  minds  of  some  of 
the  more  savage  peoples.  Civilization  has 
mostly  got  away  from  them,  it  has  strengthened 
itself  steadily  against  them,  building  with  the 
high  aim  of  wholly  escaping  from  them,  yet  no 


134  KASTLE   KRAGS 

man  in  this  childlike  world  is  wholly  unknown 
to  them.  The  blind,  ghastly  fear  of  the  dark- 
ness, of  the  unknown,  of  the  whispering  voice 
or  the  rustling  of  garments  of  one  who  returns 
from  beyond  the  void  is  an  experience  few 
human  beings  can  deny. 

The  cold  logic  with  which  I  looked  on  life 
was  in  some  way  shaken  and  uncertain.  The 
fanciful  side  of  myself  crept  in  and  influenced 
all  my  thought-processes.  It  was  no  longer  pos- 
sible to  accept,  with  implicit  faith,  that  last 
night's  crime  was  merely  the  expression  of  ordi- 
nary, familiar  moods  and  human  passions,  that 
it  would  all  work  out  according  to  the  accepted 
scheme  of  things.  Indeed  the  crime  seemed  no 
longer  human  at  all.  Rather  it  seemed  just 
some  deadly  outgrowth  of  these  wierd  sands 
beside  the  mysterious  lagoon. 

The  crime  had  seemed  a  thing  of  human 
origin  before,  to  be  judged  by  human  standards, 
but  now  it  had  become  associated,  in  my  mind, 
with  inanimate  sand  and  water.  It  was  as  if 
we  had  beheld  the  sinister  expression  of  some 
inherent  quality  in  the  place  itself  rather  than 
the  men  who  had  gathered  there.  It  was  hard 
to  believe,  now,  that  Florey  had  been  a  mere 
actor  in  some  human  drama  that  in  the  end  had 
led  to  murder.  He  had  been  little  and  gray  and 


KASTLE   KRAGS  135 

obscure,  seemingly  apart  from  human  drama  as 
the  mountains  are  apart  from  the  sea,  and  it 
was  easier  to  believe  that  he  had  been  merely 
the  unsuspecting  victim  of  some  outer  peril  that 
none  of  us  knew.  Slain,  with  a  ragged,  down- 
ward cut  through  the  breast — and  his  body 
dragged  into  the  lagoon! 

What  was  to  prevent  the  same  thing  from 
happening  again?  Before  the  week  was  done 
other  of  the  occupants  of  that  house  might  find 
themselves  walking  in  the  gardens  at  night, 
down  by  the  craggy  shore  of  the  lagoon!  Neal- 
man,  others  of  the  servants,  any  one  of  the 
guests — Edith  herself — wouldn't  circumstance, 
sooner  or  later,  take  them  into  the  shadow  of 
that  curse?  Who  could  tell  but  that  the  whole 
thing  might  be  reenacted  before  this  dreadful, 
sweltering  night  was  done ! 

The  occupants  of  the  house  wouldn't  be  able 
to  sleep  to-night.  Some  of  them  would  go  walk- 
ing in  the  gardens,  rambling  further  down  the 
beguiling  garden  paths  that  would  take  them 
at  last  to  that  craggy  margin  of  the  inlet.  Some 
of  them  might  want  a  cool  glimpse  of  the 
lagoon  itself.  Would  we  hear  that  sharp,  agon- 
ized, fearful  scream  again  streaming  through 
the  windows,  gripping  the  heart  and  freezing 


136  KASTLE   KRAGS 

the  blood  in  the  veins?  Any  hour — any  mo- 
ment— such  a  thing  might  occur. 

But  at  that  point  I  managed  a  barren  and 
mirthless  laugh.  I  was  letting  childlike  fancies 
carry  me  away — and  I  had  simply  tried  to  laugh 
them  to  scorn.  Surely  I  need  not  yield  to  such 
a  mood  as  this,  to  .let  the  sweltering  heat  and 
the  silence  change  me  into  a  superstitious  savage. 
The  thing  to  do  was  to  move  away  from  the 
window  and  direct  my  thought  in  other  chan- 
nels. Yet  I  knew,  as  I  argued  with  myself,  that 
I  was  curiously  breathless  and  inwardly  shaken. 
But  these  were  nothing  in  comparison  with  the 
fact  that  I  was  some  way  expectant,  too,  with  a 
dreadful  expectancy  beyond  the  power  of 
naming. 

Then  my  laugh  was  cut  short.  And  I  don't 
know  what  half-strangled  utterance,  what  gag- 
ging expression  of  horror  or  regret  or  fulfilled 
dread  took  its  place  on  my  lips  as  a  distinct 
scream  for  help,  agonized  and  fearful,  came 
suddenly,  ripped  through  the  darkness  from  the 
direction  af  the  lagoon. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  most  outstanding  thing  about  that  sound 
was  its  amazing  loudness.  It  was  hard  to  be- 
lieve that  a  human  voice  could  develop  such 
penetration  and  volume.  It  had  an  explosive 
quality,  bursting  upon  the  eardrums  with  no 
warning  whatsoever,  and  the  man  who  had 
cried  out  had  evidently  given  the  full  power  of 
his  lungs.  It  was  probably  true  that  the  moist, 
hot  atmosphere,  hanging  almost  without  mo- 
tion, was  a  perfect  medium  for  transmitting 
sound.  Besides,  my  windows  were  open,  facing 
the  lagoon. 

I  heard  the  sound  die  away.  The  silence 
dropped  down  again  to  find  me  standing  wholly 
motionless  before  the  window,  one  hand  resting 
on  the  sill,  seemingly  with  all  power  of  action 
gone.  It  was  a  shattering  blow  to  spirit  and 
hope  that  there  was  no  further  sound  from  that 
deathly  still  lagoon.  Further  calls  would  indi- 
cate that  the  outcome  of  the  affair  was  still  in 
doubt,  that  there  was  still  use  to  hope  and 
struggle.  But  there  was  a  sense  of  dreadful 

137 


138  KASTLE   KRAGS 

finality  in  that  unbroken  silence.  The  drama 
that  had  raged  on  that  craggy  shore  was  already 
closed  and  done. 

The  sound  had  not  been  only  a  cry  for  help. 
It  had  been  charged  full  of  the  knowledge  of 
impending  death. 

Motion  came  back  to  my  body;  and  I 
sprang  to  the  door.  The  interlude  of  inactivity 
couldn't  have  been  more  than  a  second  in  dura- 
tion. That  still,  upper  corridor  was  coming  to 
life.  Some  one  flashed  on  a  light  at  the  end  of 
the  hall,  and  the  door  of  the  room  just  opposite 
mine  flew  open.  Van  Hope,  also  in  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  stood  on  the  threshold. 

He  saw  me,  and  pushed  through  into  the  hall. 
His  face  had  an  almost  incredible  pallor  in  the 
soft  light.  In  a  moment  his  strong  hand  had 
seized  my  arm. 

"Good  God,  I  didn't  dream  that,  did  I?"  he 
cried.  "I  was  dozing — you  heard  it,  didn't 
you " 

"Of  course  I  heard " 

"Some  one  screamed  for  help!  I  heard  the 
word  plain.  Good  Lord,  it's  last  night's  work 
done  over " 

What  he  said  thereafter  I  didn't  hear.  I 
was  running  down  the  hall  toward  the  stairway, 
and  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  I  almost  collided 


KASTLE   KRAGS  139 

with  Major  Dell,  just  emerging  from  his  room. 
He  had  evidently  gone  to  bed,  and  he  had  just 
had  time  to  jerk  on  his  trousers  over  his 
pajamas  and  slip  on  a  pair  of  romeos.  The 
light  was  brighter  here,  and  I  got  a  clear  picture 
of  his  face. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  what  details  imprint 
themselves  ineffaceably  on  the  memory  in  a  mo- 
ment of  crisis.  Perhaps — as  in  the  world  of 
beasts — all  the  senses  are  incalculably  sharp- 
ened, the  thought  processes  are  clean-cut  and 
infallible,  and  images  have  a  clarity  unequalled 
at  any  other  time.  I  got  the  idea  that  Dell  had 
been  terribly  moved  by  that  scream  in  the  dark- 
ness. His  emotion  had  seemingly  been  so  vio- 
lent that  it  gave  the  impression  of  no  emotion. 
His  face  looked  blank  as  a  sheet  of  white  paper. 

I  rushed  by  him,  and  I  heard  him  and  Van 
Hope  descending  the  stairs  just  behind  me. 
The  hall  was  still  lighted,  but  long  shadows  lay 
across  the  broad  veranda.  Fargo,  his  book  still 
in  his  hand,  stood  just  outside  the  door. 

"What  was  it,  Killdare?"  he  asked  me.  "I 
couldn't  tell  from  where  it  was " 

"The  lagoon!"  I  answered.  In  the  instant 
Van  Hope  and  Dell  caught  up  with  me,  and  the 
four  of  us  raced  down  the  driveway. 

Instinctively  we  went  first  to  the  place  on  the 


140  KASTLEKRAGS 

shore  where  Florey  had  been  slain  the  night 
before.  The  action  was  a  clear  indication  of 
what  was  in  our  minds — that  this  matter  was  in 
some  way  darkly  related  to  the  crime  of  the 
night  before.  But  the  sand  was  bare,  and  the 
grass  unshadowed  in  the  moonlight. 

For  a  moment  we  stood,  aghast  and  shaken, 
gazing  out  over  the  lagoon.  It  was  still  as 
glass.  The  tide  was  running  out,  and  not  a 
wave  stirred  in  all  its  darkened  expanse.  We 
saw  the  image  of  the  moon  far  out,  scarcely 
wavering,  and  the  long,  bright  trail  that  it  made 
across  the  water  to  our  eyes.  The  night  was 
still  stifling  hot,  and  the  lagoon  conveyed  an 
image  of  coolness. 

"Don't  stand  here!"  Fargo  cried.  "We've 
got  to  make  a  search.  Some  poor  devil  is 
likely  lying  somewhere  in  these  gardens " 

The  house  was  lighted  now,  and  in  an  uproar, 
and  some  of  the  other  guests  were  racing  down 
the  driveway  to  us.  In  this  regard  it  might 
have  been  last  night's  tragedy  re-enacted. 
There  was,  however,  one  significant  change. 

The  iron  self-control,  the  coolness,  the  per- 
fect disclipline  of  mind  and  muscle  that  had 
marked  the  finding  of  the  dead  body  on  the 
shore  the  preceding  night  was  no  longer  entirely 
manifest.  These  northern  men,  cold  as  flint 


KASTLE   KRAGS  141 

ordinarily,  were  no  longer  wholly  self-mastered. 
One  glance  at  their  faces,  loose  and  pale  in  the 
moonlight,  and  the  first  sound  of  their  voices 
told  this  fact  only  too  plainly.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, that  they  were  completely  broken.  Their 
training  and  their  manhood  was  too  good  for 
that. 

We  didn't  stop  to  answer  their  queries.  We 
began  to  search  through  the  gardens,  examining 
every  shadow,  peering  into  every  covert.  We 
tried  to  direct  each  other  according  to  our  sev- 
eral ideas  as  to  the  source  of  the  sound.  We 
all  agreed,  however,  that  the  sound  had  seemed 
to  come  from  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
natural  rock  wall  that  formed  the  lagoon. 

The  next  few  moments  were  not  very  co- 
herent. We  called  back  and  forth,  encountered 
one  another  in  the  shadows,  knew  moments  of 
apprehension  when  the  brush  walls  cut  us  off 
from  our  fellows,  but  we  found  nothing  that 
might  have  explained  that  desperate  cry  of  a 
few  moments  before.  At  last  some  one  called 
out  commandingly  from  the  shores  of  the 
lagoon. 

"Come  here,  every  one,"  he  said.  The  voice 
rose  above  our  confused  utterances,  and  all  of 
us,  recognizing  a  leader,  hurried  to  him.  Pes- 
cini  was  standing  beside  the  craggy  shore,  a 


142  KASTLEKRAGS 

strange  and  imposing  figure  in  the  wealth  of 
moonlight,  at  the  edge  of  that  tranquil  water. 

Pescini,  after  all,  was  showing  himself  one 
of  the  most  self-mastered  men  among  us.  Any 
one  could  read  the  fact  in  his  voice.  How 
white  his  skin  looked  in  the  moonlight,  how 
raven-black  his  mustache  and  beard!  He  was 
still  in  the  garb  he  had  worn  at  dinner,  im- 
maculate and  unruffled. 

"We're  not  getting  anywhere,"  he  said.  "Is 
every  one  here?" 

"Here!"  It  was  Joe  Nopp's  voice,  and  he 
immediately  joined  us.  We  waited  an  instant, 
seeing  if  any  further  searchers  were  yet  to  come 
in.  But  the  thickets  were  as  hushed  as  the 
lagoon  itself. 

"Let's  take  another  tack,"  Pescini  said. 
"There's  nothing  in  these  gardens.  If  there  is 
we'll  find  it  in  an  organized  search.  Remember 
— our  search  got  us  nowhere  last  night.  Let's 
count  up,  and  see  if  we're  all  all  right." 

We  waited  for  him  to  continue.  All  of  us 
breathed  deeply  and  hard. 

"Then  let's  go  up  to  the  house  to  do  it," 
Nopp  suggested.  "We  know  we're  not  all  here 
now — there's  no  use  getting  alarmed  before 
we're  sure.  Go  up  to  the  living-room." 

His  voice  was  oddly  penetrative,  wakening  a 


KASTLEKRAGS  143 

whole  flood  of  unwelcome  thoughts.  .  .  . 
We  were  not  all  here,  he  said — seemingly  not 
even  all  the  white  occupants  of  Kastle  Krags 
had  obeyed  the  common  instinct  to  answer  and 
investigate  that  cry!  Yet  it  all  might  come  to 
nothing,  after  all.  A  close  tabulation  might 
account  for  every  one — and  that  the  remainder 
of  our  party  had  merely  not  yet  wakened. 
Stranger  things  have  happened.  We  told  our- 
selves, in  silent  ways,  that  we  had  heard  of 
men  sleeping  through  more  fearful  sounds  than 
that!  I  agreed  with  Nopp  that  the  thing  to  do 
was  to  go  to  the  living-room,  make  a  careful 
count,  and  then  see  where  we  stood. 

In  a  moment  we  had  started  back.  We  were 
not  afraid  we  had  left  some  of  our  party  still 
searching  through  the  gardens.  No  man  cared 
to  be  alone  out  there  to-night,  and  all  of  us 
kept  close  track  of  our  fellows.  Edith  was 
standing  just  before  the  veranda,  on  the  drive- 
way, as  we  came  up.  The  coroner,  who  had 
taken  time  fully  to  dress,  met  us  half-way  down 
the  lawns. 

We  walked  almost  in  silence;  and  quietly, 
rather  grimly,  Joe  Nopp  flashed  on  all  the 
lights  of  the  big  living-room. 

"Go  ahead,  Slatterly,"  he  said  to  the  sheriff, 
"See  that  we're  all  here." 


144  KASTLEKRAGS 

"Let  Killdare  do  it.  I  don't  know  you  all, 
you  know " 

So  I  made  the  count,  just  as  sometimes  we  did 
after  raids  over  No  Man's  Land.  The  sheriff 
and  the  constable  were  both  present,  Mrs.  Gen- 
try, the  housekeeper,  was  standing,  pale  but 
remarkably  self-possessed,  at  the  inner  door  of 
the  room.  Of  course  I  couldn't  count  up  the 
blacks.  Most  of  them  were  evidently  hiding 
in  their  rooms.  And  every  one  of  the  six 
guests  answered  his  name. 

"There's  just  one  more  name  to  give,"  Nopp 
said  at  last. 

"But  there's  no  use  naming  it,"  some  one 
answered  in,  a  queer,  flat  voice.  "He's  not 
here." 

Nopp  turned,  and  bounded  like  a  deer  up  the 
stairs.  All  of  us  knew  what  he  had  gone  to  do : 
to  see  if  the  missing  man  was  in  his  room.  And 
there  was  nothing  for  us  but  to  wait  for  his 
report. 

But  in  a  moment  we  heard  his  step  on  the 
stairs.  He  sprang  down  among  us,  and  evi- 
dently his  fine  self-mastery  was  breaking  within 
him.  His  fine  eyes  held  vivid  points  of  light. 

"My  God,  he's  gone,"  he  said.  "Not  a  sign 
of  him." 

"It  can't  be  true,"  Pescini  answered. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  145 

"It  is.  His  bed  is  rumpled — but  not  thrown 
back  or  slept  in." 

Von  Hope,  the  missing  man's  closest  friend, 
suddenly  gasped  aloud.  "But  I  won't  believe 
it — not  until  we  make  a  search!"  he  cried.  "It 
can't  be  true." 

"Believe  it  or  not.  Search  through  the 
grounds  or  call  through  the  house.  Nealman's 
gone  just  as  Florey's  body  went  last  night." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

WE  searched  through  the  house,  grimly  and 
purposefully;  but  Nealman,  the  genial  host  of 
Kastle  Krags,  was  neither  revealed  to  our  eyes 
or  gave  answer  to  our  calls.  It  was  no  longer 
possible  to  doubt  but  that  it  was  his  voice  that 
had  uttered  that  fearful  cry  for  help. 

While  the  coroner,  whose  special  provi-ice  is 
death,  led  the  guests  in  a  detailed  search 
through  the  grounds,  Sheriff  Slatterly  and  I 
examined  the  missing  man's  room.  And  here 
I  was  to  learn  the  contents  of  those  mysterious 
telegrams  that  had  reached  Nealman  after  the 
inquest  of  the  preceding  day. 

They  were  lying  on  his  desk,  one  of  them 
torn  in  two  as  if  in  a  fit  of  anger,  the  other 
rumpled  from  a  hundred  readings.  I  read 
aloud  to  the  sheriff: 

BLAIR  COMBINE  FORCING  I.  S. 
AND  H.  TO  BOTTOM.  MOVE  QUICK 
IF  YOU  CAN. 

146 


KASTLEKRAGS  147 

The  second  read: 

I.  S.  AND  H.  DOWN  TO  28.  ALL 
YOUR  INDUSTRIALS  SMASHED 
WIDE  OPEN.  FLETCHER  NEAL- 
MAN  GOES  DOWN  IN  SMASH. 

The  sheriff  halted  in  his  search  and  took  the 
messages  from  my  hand.  "I'm  not  much  up  on 
the  stock  market,"  he  said.  "Do  you  know 
what  these  mean " 

"Not  exactly.  I  know  that  I.  S.  and  H. 
stock  has  taken  a  fearful  drop — if  he  had 
bought  heavily  on  margin  his  whole  fortune 
might  have  been  wiped  out.  Blair  is  a  promi- 
nent speculator  on  the  exchange.  Industrials 
refer,  of  course,  to  industrial  stocks.  Fletcher 
Nealman  was  Mr.  Nealman's  uncle,  supposed  to 
be  a  man  of  great  wealth " 

"Then  you  think — Nealman  was  ruined  finan- 
cially?" He  paused,  seemingly  studying  his 
hands.  "I  wonder  if  it  could  be  true." 

"You  mean  of  course — the  same  thing  that 
you  guessed  about  Florey.  Suicide?" 

"Yes.     I'll  admit  there's  plenty  against  it." 

"If  suicide — why  did  he  cry  for  help?" 

"Many  a  man  cries  for  help  after  he's  started 
to  do  himself  in.  The  darkness  scares  'em, 
when  it's  too  late  to  turn  back.  That  wouldn't 


148  KASTLEKRAGS 

puzzle  me  at  all.  Killdare,  do  you  know  the 
importance  of  example?" 

"I  know  that  what  one  man  does,  another's 
likely  to  do." 

"I'm  not  saying  that  Nealman  killed  himself, 
but  listen  how  much  there  is  to  say  for  such  a 
theory.  You're  right — what  one  man  does,  an- 
other's likely  to  do.  A  curious  thing  about  sui- 
cides, Weldon  tells  me,  is  that  they  usually  come 
in  droves.  One  man  sets  an  example  for  another. 
Say  you're  worrying  to  death  about  something, 
sick  perhaps,  or  financially  ruined,  and  you  hear 
of  some  fellow — some  chap  you  know,  perhaps, 
a  man  you  respect  almost  as  much  as  you  respect 
yourself — suddenly  getting  out  of  all  his  diffi- 
culties all  nice  and  quiet — with  one  little  click  to 
the  head?  Isn't  it  likely  you'd  begin  thinking 
about  the  same  thing  for  yourself?  Call  it  mob 
psychology — I  only  know  it  happens  in  fact. 

"I'm  more  confident  than  ever  that  Florey 
did  himself  in,  on  account  of  his  sickness.  Here 
was  Nealman,  worried  to  death  over  money  mat- 
ters, holding  a  lot  of  options  on  a  falling  market. 
It's  true  that  we  didn't  find  Florey's  knife,  but 
who  can  say  but  maybe  Nealman  himself  threw  it 
into  the  lagoon,  and  dragged  the  body  afterward, 
so  that  no  one  would  guess  it  was  suicide.  He 
liked  Florey — he  didn't  want  any  one  to  know 


KASTLEKRAGS  149 

he  had  done  himself  in.  Maybe  he  was  thinking 
already  about  doing  the  same  thing  to  himself, 
and  in  such  a  case  he'd  been  glad  enough  to  have 
some  one  hide  the  evidence  of  suicide.  To-day 
he  gets  word  of  a  final  smash,  and  he  stays  all 
day  in  his  room,  brooding  about  it.  To-night 
comes  this  heat — enough  to  drive  a  man  crazy. 
Maybe  he  just  called  out  to  make  us  think  it  was 
murder.  Proud  men  don't  usually  want  the  world 
to  know  that  they've  killed  themselves. 

"Then  there's  one  other  thing — more  impor- 
tant still.  What's  that  book,  open,  on  the  table?" 

I  glanced  at  its  leathern  cover.  "The  Bible," 
I  told  him. 

"The  Holy  Book.  And  how  often  do  you  find 
a  worldly  man  like  this  Nealman  getting  out  the 
Bible  and  reading  it?  Doesn't  it  show  that  he 
was  planning  something  mighty  serious — that  he 
wanted  to  give  his  soul  every  chance  before  he 
took  the  last  step?  It's  a  common  thing  for  sui- 
cides to  read  the  Bible  the  last  thing.  And  what 
are  these?" 

He  showed  me  a  rumpled  sheet  of  paper,  pro- 
cured from  the  waste-basket,  on  which  had  been 
written  a  number  of  unrelated  figures. 

"I  can't  say,"  I  told  him.  "Probably  he  was 
doing  some  figuring  about  his  losses." 

"Looks  to  me  like  he  was  out  of  his  head — 


150  KASTLE   KRAGS 

was  just  writin'  any  old  figures  down.  But  maybe 
you're  right." 

It  was  true  that  the  bed  had  not  been  slept  in. 
Nealman  had  lain  down  on  it,  however,  and  dis- 
arranged the  spread.  Many  cigarette  and  cigar 
stubs  filled  the  smoking  stand,  and  a  half-filled 
whiskey-and-soda  glass  stood  on  the  window  sill. 

No  other  clews  were  revealed,  so  we  went  down 
to  the  study.  The  guests  of  Kastle  Krags  had 
not  gone  back  to  their  beds.  They  sat  in  a  little 
white-faced  group  beside  the  window,  talking  qui- 
etly. Marten  beckoned  the  sheriff  to  his  side. 

"What  have  you  found  out,  Slatterly?"  he 
asked. 

He  spoke  like  a  man  used  to  having  his  ques- 
tions answered.  There  was  a  note  of  impatience 
in  his  voice,  too,  perhaps  of  distrust.  Slatterly 
straightened. 

"Nothing  definite.  Nealman  has  unquestion- 
ably vanished.  His  bed  hasn't  been  slept  in,  but 
is  ruffled.  Undoubtedly  it  was  his  voice  we 
heard.  I  think  I'll  be  able  to  give  you  something 
definite  in  a  little  while." 

"I'd  like  something  definite  now,  if  you  could 
possibly  give  it.  That's  two  men  that  have  disap- 
peared in  two  nights — and  we  seem  to  be  no 
nearer  an  explanation  than  we  were  at  first.  This 


KASTLE   KRAGS  151 

isn't  a  business  that  can  be  delayed,  Mr. 
Slatterly." 

"If  you  must  know — I  think  both  men  com- 
mitted suicide." 

"You  do !" 

"It  certainly  is  the  most  reasonable  theory,  in 
spite  of  all  there  is  against  it."  Then  he  told  of 
Nealman's  financial  disaster,  of  the  Bible  open  on 
his  desk,  and  all  the  other  points  he  had  to  back 
his  theory. 

"And  I  suppose  Florey  swallowed  his  knife, 
and  threw  his  own  body  into  the  lagoon !"  Fargo 
commented  grimly. 

Slatterly  turned  to  him,  his  eyes  hard  and 
bright.  "We'll  have  your  jokes  to-morrow,"  he 
reproved  him  sternly.  "Of  course  some  one  else 
did  that.  I've  got  a  theory — not  yet  proven — to 
explain  it,  but  I  can't  give  it  out  yet." 

"How  do  you  account  for  Florey's  body  not 
being  found  in  the  lagoon?"  Marten  asked 
quietly. 

"I  can't  account  for  it.  We  might  have  missed 
it — I  don't  see  how  we  could,  but  we  might  have 
done  so.  ^  I'm  going  to  have  men  dragging  the 
lagoon  all  day,  over  and  over  again — until  we 
find  both  bodies." 

"You  are  convinced  that  Nealman,  too,  lies 
dead  in  the  lagoon?" 


152  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"Where  else  could  he  be?  Did  you  hear  that 
cry  a  few  hours  ago?" 

"Good  Heavens!  Could  I  ever  forget  it?  My 
old  friend " 

"Was  it  faked?  Could  any  man  have  faked  a 
cry  like  that?" 

"Heavens,  no!  It  had  the  fear  and  the  agony 
of  death  right  in  it.  There  can't  be  any  hope  of 
that,  Slatterly." 

The  sheriff  gazed  about  the  little  circle  of 
white  faces.  No  one  dissented.  That  cry  was 
real,  and  there  had  been  tragic  need  and  extrem- 
ity behind  it:  we  knew  that  fact  if  we  knew  that 
we  lived.  Evidently  the  sheriff  had  completely 
given  over  the  theory  that  he  had  suggested,  half- 
heartedly, to  me — that  Nealman  might  have  cried 
out  to  hide  the  fact  of  his  own  suicide. 

"No  man  could  have  cried  out  like  that  to  de- 
ceive, and  then  disappear.  No,  Mr.  Marten, 
the  man  that  gave  that  cry  is  dead,  in  all  proba- 
bility in  the  lagoon,  and  there  seems  no  doubt  but 
that  Nealman  was  the  man." 

"Yet  you  think  he  was  a  suicide." 

"A  suicide  often  cries  out  for  help  when  it  is 
too  late  to  back  out.  But  of  course — I  can't  say 
for  sure." 

"You're  mistaken  in  that,  Slatterly."  Van 
Hope  drew  himself  together  with  a  perceptible 


KASTLE   KRAGS  153 

effort.  "I've  known  this  man  for  years — and  in 
the  end,  you'll  see  it  isn't  suicide.  He  wasn't  the 
type  that  commits  suicide.  He's  young,  he'd  be 
getting  himself  together  to  meet  that  Blair  gang 
that  ruined  him  and  chase  'em  into  their  holes. 
The  suicide  theory  is  far-fetched,  at  best." 

"It  may  be,"  the  sheriff  agreed.  "I  only  wish 
there  could  be  some  light  thrown  on  this 
affair " 

"There  will  be,  Slatterly."  Marten's  voice 
dropped  almost  to  a  monotone.  "This  is  too  big 
a  deal  for  one  man — or  two  men  either.  We've 
been  talking,  and  we've  decided  to  send  for  some 
one  to  help  you  out." 

"You  have,  eh?"  Slatterly  stiffened.  "If  I 
need  help  I  can  send  through  my  own  channels — 
get  some  state  or  national  detectives " 

"That's  all  right.  Get  'em  if  you  want  to. 
The  more  the  better.  But  you  haven't  got  any 
help  yet — even  the  district  attorney  has  failed  to 
come  and  won't  come  for  at  least  a  day  or  two 
more.  We've  got  a  private  detective  in  mind — 
one  of  the  biggest  in  America.  His  name's  La- 
cone — you've  heard  of  him.  It  won't  be  an  offi- 
cial matter  at  all.  Van  Hope  is  hiring  him — a 
wholly  private  enterprise.  I  know  you'll  all  be 
glad  to  have  his  co-operation." 

"If  it's  a  private  venture,  I  have  nothing  fur- 


154  KASTLE   KRAGS 

ther  to  say,"  Slatterly  told  him  stiffly.  "When 
do  you  expect  him?" 

"He's  operating  in  the  Middle  West  He 
can't  possibly  make  it  until  day  after  to- 
morrow  " 

"Twenty-four  hours,  eh?" 

"It's  after  midnight  now.  Probably  not  for 
forty-eight  hours." 

"By  that  time,  I  hope  to  have  the  matter 
solved."  Then  his  business  took  him  elsewhere, 
and  he  strode  away. 

There  was  one  thing  more  I  could  do.  It  was 
an  obligation,  and  yet,  because  it  was  in  the  way 
of  service,  it  was  a  happiness  too.  I  climbed  the 
broad  stairs  and  stopped  at  last  before  Edith's 
door. 

She  called  softly  in  answer  to  my  knock.  And 
in  a  moment  she  had  opened  the  door. 

She  was  fully  dressed,  waiting  ready  for  any 
call  that  might  be  made  upon  her.  And  the  pic- 
ture that  she  made,  framed  in  the  doorway,  went 
straight  to  my  heart. 

Her  eyes  were  still  lustrous  with  tears,  and  the 
high  girlish  color  and  the  light  of  happiness  was 
gone  from  her  face.  It  was  wistful,  like  that  of 
a  grief-stricken  child.  Her  voice  was  changed 
too,  in  spite  of  all  her  struggle  to  make  it  sound 


KASTLE   KRAGS  155 

the  same.  And  at  first  I  stood  helpless,  not  know- 
ing what  to  say  or  do. 

"I  came — just  to  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  aid — 
in  any  way." 

"I  don't  think  you  can,"  she  answered.  "It's 
so  good  of  you,  though,  to  remember " 

"There's  no  one  to  notify — no  telegrams  to 
send " 

"I  don't  think  so,  yet.  We're  not  sure  yet. 
Ned,  is  there  any  chance  for  him  to  be  alive " 

"Not  any." 

Her  hand  touched  my  arm.  "You  haven't  any 
idea  how  he  died?" 

"No.  It's  absolutely  baffling.  But  try  not  to 
think  about  it.  Everything  will  come  out  right 
for  you,  in  the  end." 

I  hadn't  meant  to  say  just  that — to  recall  her 
to  the  uncertainty  of  her  own  future  now  that  her 
uncle,  financially  ruined,  had  disappeared. 

"I'm  not  thinking — about  what  will  happen  to 
me."  She  suddenly  straightened,  and  her  eyes 
kindled.  "About  the  other — Ned,  I'm  not  going 
to  try  to  keep  from  thinking  about  it.  I'm  going 
to  think  about  it  all  I  can,  until  I  see  it  through. 
Only  thought,  and  keen,  true  thought,  can  help 
us  now.  I've  had  to  do  a  lot  of  thinking  in  my 
life,  overcoming  difficulties.  And  there's  no  one 
really  vitally  interested  but  me — I  was  the  closest 


156  KASTLE    KRAGS 

relative,  except  for  his  uncle,  that  Nealman  had. 
I'm  going  to  find  out  the  mystery  of  that  lagoon ! 
Perhaps,  in  finding  it,  I  can  solve  a  lot  of  other 
problems  too — perhaps  the  one  you  just  men- 
tioned. Uncle  Grover  was  kind  to  me,  he  gave 
me  his  protection  and  shelter — and  I'm  going  to 
know  what  killed  him!" 

I  found  myself  staring  into  her  blazing,  deter- 
mined eyes.  She  meant  what  she  said.  The  fire 
of  a  zealot  was  in  her  face.  "Good  Heavens, 
Edith !  That  isn't  work  for  a  woman " 

"It's  work  for  anybody,  with  a  clear  enough 
brain  to  see  the  truth,  and  courage  to  prove  it 
out " 

In  some  mysterious  way  her  hands  had  got  into 
mine.  We  were  standing  face  to  face  in  the  sha- 
dowed hall.  "But  promise  me — you  won't  go 
into  danger!" 

"I  promise — that  I'll  take  every  precaution — 
to  preserve  myself." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

As  soon  as  daylight  came  the  coroner  held  an- 
other inquest.  Again  the  occupants  of  the  great 
manor  house,  black  and  white,  were  gathered  in 
the  living-room,  and  the  coroner  called  on  each 
person  in  turn.  Possible  suspects  had  been  numer- 
ous in  the  case  of  Florey's  death :  in  regard  to  this 
second  mystery  they  seemingly  included  almost 
every  one  in  the  house. 

I  was  able  to  state  positively  that  Major  Dell 
and  Van  Hope  were  in  their  own  rooms  at  the 
time,  or  such  a  short  time  afterward  as  to  pre- 
clude them  from  any  possible  connection  with  the 
crime.  I  had  seen  the  latter  on  his  threshold: 
both  of  us  had  encountered  Major  Dell  as  he 
emerged  from  his  room,  his  trousers  slipped  on 
over  his  pajamas.  The  court  had  to  take  each 
man's  word  in  every  other  instance. 

The  coroner  questioned  Fargo  particularly 
closely.  I  had  testified  that  we  had  met  him,  at 
the  lower  hallway,  fully  dressed,  and  evidently 

157 


158  KASTLE    KRAGS 

the  official  attributed  sinister  importance  to  the 
fact.  Fargo  stood  tightly  by  his  guns,  however, 
testifying  that  he  sat  in  the  same  chair  in  the  li- 
brary from  shortly  after  the  dinner  hour  until  he 
had  heard  the  scream. 

"What  was  the  nature  of  the  scream,  Mr. 
Fargo?"  the  coroner  asked. 

"It  was  very  high  and  loud — I  would  say  a 
very  frantic  scream." 

"You  would  say  it  was  a  cry  of  agony?  Like 
some  one  mortally  wounded?" 

"I  wouldn't  hardly  think  so." 

"And  why  not?"   " 

"I  don't  think  a  wounded  man  could  have  ut- 
tered that  scream.  It  was  too  loud  and  strong 
— given  by  a  man  whose  strength  was  still  largely 
unimpaired.." 

The  coroner  leaned  nearer.  "How  further 
would  you  describe  it?" 

"It  was  a  distinct  cry  for  help,"  Fargo  an- 
swered. "The  word  he  said  was  'Help' — I 
heard  it  distinctly.  But  it  wasn't  a  cry  of  any 
one  mortally  injured.  If  anything,  it  was  a  cry 
of— fear." 

"Where  did  it  come  from?"        i 

"From  the  lagoon." 

The  coroner's  eyes  snapped.  "If  you  knew  it 
was  from  the  lagoon  why  did  you  ask  Mr.  Kill- 


KASTLE   KRAGS  159 

dare,  when  he  encountered  you  last  night,  where 
it  was  from." 

Fargo  stiffened,  meeting  his  gaze.  "I  wasn't 
sure  last  night,  Mr.  Weldon,"  he  answered.  "I 
knew  it  was  somewhere  in  that  direction.  When 
Mr.  Killdare  said  it  was  from  the  lagoon  I  in- 
stantly knew  he  was  right.  I  can't  say  just  how 
I  knew.  All  the  testimony  I've  heard  to-day 
proves  the  same  thing." 

"No  one  wants  you  to  tell  what  other  people 
have  testified,  Mr.  Fargo,"  the  coroner  reproved 
him.  "We  want  to  know  what  you  saw  with  your 
own  eyes  and  heard  with  your  own  ears  and  what 
you  thought  at  the  time,  not  now.  To  go  fur- 
ther. You  think  that  the  cry  was  uttered  by  a 
man  whose  strength  was  unimpaired.  A  strong, 
full-lunged  cry.  Moreover,  it  was  given  in  deadly 
fear.  Does  that  suggest  anything  in  your  mind?" 

"I  don't  see  what  you  are  getting  at." 

"You  say  it  was  a  long-  full-voiced  cry.  Or 
did  you  say  it  was  long?" 

"I  don't  think  I  said  so.  It  was  rather  long- 
drawn,  though.  It's  impossible  to  give  a  full- 
lunged  cry  without  having  it  give  the  effect  of 
being  long-drawn." 

"You  would  say  it  lasted — how  long?" 

"A  second,  I  should  say.  Certainly  not  more. 
Just  about  a  second." 


160  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"A  second  is  a  long  time,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Fargo, 
when  a  man  stands  at  the  brink  of  death.  Often 
the  tables  can  be  turned  in  as  long  a  time  as  a 
second.  Many  times  a  second  has  given  a  man 
time  to  save  his  life — to  prepare  a  defense — 
even  to  flee.  Does  it  seem  to  you  unusual  that  a 
man  would  give  that  much  energy  and  time  to 
cry  for  help  when  he  was  still  uninjured,  and  still 
had  a  second  of  life." 

"Not  at  all — under  certain  circumstances." 

"What  circumstances?" 

"It  would  depend  on  the  nature  of  the  force. 
A  man  might  see — that  while  he  still  had  strength 
left  to  fight,  he  wouldn't  have  the  least  chance  to 


win." 


"Exactly.  Yet  if  a  man  had  time  to  call  out 
that  way,  he'd  at  least  have  time  to  run.  A  man 
can  take  a  big  jump  in  a  second,  Fargo." 

Fargo's  voice  fell.     "Perhaps  he  couldn't  run." 

"Ah!"  The  coroner  paused.  "Because  he 
was  in  the  grasp  of  his  assailant?" 

"Yes." 

"Yet  he  still  had  his  strength  left.  Nealman 
was  a  man  among  men,  wasn't  he,  Fargo?" 

"Indeed  he  was !"  Fargo's  eyes  snapped. 
"I'd  like  to  see  any  one  deny  it." 

"He  wasn't  a  coward  then.  He'd  fight  as  long 
as  he  had  a  chance,  instead  of  giving  all  his  en- 


KASTLE   KRAGS  161 

ergies  to  yelling  for  help — help  that  could  not 
reach  him  short  of  many  seconds.  In  other 
words,  Nealman  knew  that  he  didn't  have  the 
least  kind  of  a  fighting  chance.  He  was  in  the 
grasp  of  his  assailant  so  he  couldn't  run.  And 
his  assailant  was  strong — and  powerful  enough — • 
that  there  was  no  use  to  fight  him." 

It  was  curious  how  his  voice  rang  in  that  silent 
room.  Fargo  had  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  as  if 
the  words  struck  him  like  physical  blows.  A 
negro  janitor  at  one  side  inhaled  with  a  sharp, 
distinct  sound. 

"It  might  have  been  more  than  one  man," 
Fargo  suggested  uneasily. 

"Do  you  believe  it  was?" 

"I  don't  know.     It's  wholly  a  blank  to  me." 

"Have  you  any  theory  where  the  body  is?" 

"I  suppose — in  the  lagoon." 

"Would  you  say  that  cry  was  given  while  he 
was  in  the  water?" 

"I  hardly  think  so.  I'm  slightly  known  as  a 
swimmer,  Mr.  Weldon — was  once,  anyway,  and 
I  know  something  about  the  water.  A  drowning 
man  can't  call  that  loud.  Mr.  Nealman  was  a 
corking  good  swimmer  himself — nothing  fancy  at 
all,  but  fairly  well  able  to  take  care  of  himself. 
When  he  disappeared  the  tide  was  running  out — 
the  lagoon  on  this  side  of  the  rock  wall  was  still 


162  KASTLE   KRAGS 

as  glass.  If  Mr.  Nealman,  through  some  acci- 
dent or  other,  fell  in  that  lagoon  he'd  swim  out — 
unless  he  was  held  in.  At  least  he'd  try  to  swim 
out.  And  by  the  time  he  found  out  he  couldn't 
make  the  shore,  he'd  be  so  tired  he  couldn't  cry 
out  like  he  did  last  night." 

"I  see  your  point.  I  don't  know  that  it  would 
always  work  out.  Occasionally  a  man — simply 
loses  his  nerve." 

"Not  Nealman — in  still  water,  most  of  which 
isn't  over  five  feet  deep." 

"  'Unless  he  was  held  in,'  you  say.  What  do 
you  think  held  him  in?" 

Fargo's  hands  gripped  his  chair-arms.  "Mr. 
Weldon,  I  don't  know  what  you  want  me  to  say," 
he  answered  clearly.  "I  feel  the  same  way  about 
this  mystery  that  I  felt  about  the  other — that 
human  enemies  did  him  to  death.  I  don't  think 
anything  held  him  in.  I  think  he  was  dead  before 
ever  he  was  thrown  into  the  water.  I  think  two 
or  three  men — perhaps  only  one — surrounded 
him — probably  pointed  a  gun  at  him.  He  yelled 
for  help,  and  they  killed  him — probably  with  a 
knife  or  black-jack.  That's  the  whole  story." 

The  coroner  dismissed  him,  then  slowly  gazed 
about  the  circle.  For  the  first  time  I  began  to 
realize  that  these  mysteries  of  Kastle  Krags  were 
pricking  under  his  skin.  He  looked  baffled,  irri- 


KASTLE   KRAGS  163 

tated,  his  temper  was  lost,  as  gone  as  the  missing 
men  themselves. 

Ever  his  attitude  was  more  belligerent,  pugna- 
cious. His  lips  were  set  in  a  fighting  line,  his  eyes 
scowled,  and  evidently  he  intended  to  wring  the 
testimony  from  his  witnesses  by  third  degree 
methods.  Suddenly  he  whirled  to  Pescini. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  be  fully  dressed  at  the 
time  of  Nealman's  disappearance  last  night?"  he 
demanded. 

Pescini  met  his  gaze  coolly  and  easily.  Per- 
haps little  points  of  light  glittered  in  his  eyes,  but 
his  pale  face  was  singularly  impassive.  "I  hadn't 
gone  to  bed,"  he  answered  simply. 

"How  did  that  happen?  Do  you  usually  wait 
till  long  after  midnight  to  go  to  bed?" 

"Not  always.  I  have  no  set  hour.  Last  night 
I  was  reading." 

"Some  book  that  was  in  your  room?" 

"A  book  I  had  carried  with  me.  'The  diary 
of  a  Peruvian  Princess'  was  the  title.  An  old 
book — but  exceedingly  interesting." 

He  spoke  gravely,  yet  it  was  good  to  hear  him. 
"I'll  make  a  note  of  it,"  the  coroner  said,  falling 
into  his  mood.  But  at  once  he  got  back  to  busi- 
ness. "You  didn't  remove  your  coat?" 

"No.  I  got  so  interested  that  I  forgot  to  make 
any  move  towards  bed." 


164  KASTLE   KRAGS 

The  coroner  paused,  then  took  another  tack. 
"You've  known  Nealman  for  a  long  time,  have 
you  not,  Pescini?" 

"Something  over  four  years,  I  should  judge." 

"You  knew  him  in  a  business  way?" 

"More  in  a  social  way.  We  had  few  business 
dealings." 

"Ah!"  The  coroner  seemed  to  be  studying  the 
pattern  of  the  rugs.  "The  inquiry  of  the  other 
day  showed  you  and  he  from  the  same  city.  I 
suppose  you  moved  largely  in  the  same  circle. 
Belonged  to  the  same  clubs,  and  all  that?  Mr. 
Pescini,  was  Nealman  a  frequent  visitor  to  your 
house?" 

The  witness  seemed  to  stiffen.  The  coroner 
leaned  forward  in  his  chair. 

"He  came  quite  often,"  the  former  replied  qui- 
etly. "He  was  a  rather  frequent  dinner  guest. 
He  and  I  liked  to  talk  over  various  subjects." 

"You  will  pardon  me,  Mr.  Pescini,  if  I  have  to 
venture  into  personal  subjects — subjects  that  will 
be  unpleasant  for  you  to  discuss.  This  inquiry, 
however,  takes  the  place  of  a  formal  inquest. 
Two  men  have  disappeared.  It  is  the  duty  of  the 
state,  whose  representative  I  am,  to  spare  no 
man's  sensibilities  in  finding  out  the  truth.  We've 
got  to  get  down  to  cases.  You  understand  that,  I 
suppose." 


KASTLE   KRAGS  165 

"Perfectly."  Pescini  leaned  back,  folding  his 
hands.  "Perfectly,"  he  said  again. 

"I  believe  you  recently  filed  and  won  a  suit  for 
divorce  against  your  wife,  Marie  Pescini.  Isn't 
this  true?" 

The  witness  nodded.  None  of  us  heard  him 
speak. 

"May  I  ask  what  was  your  grounds,  stated  in 
your  complaint?" 

"I  don't  see  that  it  makes  any  difference.  The 
grounds  were  the  only  ones  by  which  divorce  can 
be  granted  in  the  State  of  New  York." 

"Infidelity,  I  believe?" 

"Yes.     Infidelity." 

'You  named  certain  co-respondents?" 

"Yes." 

"I  ask  you  this.  Was  there  any  man  whom  you 
regarded  as  one  of  those  that  had  helped  to  break 
up  your  home  that,  for  any  reason  in  the  world, 
you  did  not  name  in  your  complaint?" 

"There  was  not.  You  are  absolutely  off  on  the 
wrong  track." 

The  coroner  dismissed  him  pre-emptorily,  then 
turned  to  Edith  Nealman.  He  asked  her  the 
usual  questions,  with  considerable  care  and  in 
rather  surprising  detail — how  long  she  had 
worked  as  Nealman's  secretary,  whether  he  had 
any  enemies;  he  sounded  her  as  to  the  missing 


166  KASTLE   KRAGS 

man's  habits,  his  finances,  his  most  intimate  life. 

"When  did  you  last  see  Mr.  Nealman?"  he 
asked  quickly. 

"Just  before  yesterday's  inquest — when  he 
went  to  his  room." 

"He  didn't  call  you  for  any  work?" 

"No." 

"You  didn't  see  him  in  the  corridor — in  his 
room — in  the  study  adjoining  his  room — or  any- 
where else?" 

"No."  Edith's  face  was  stark  white,  and  her 
voice  was  very  low.  Not  one  of  us  could  ever 
forget  how  she  looked — that  slim,  girlish  figure  in 
the  big  chair,  the  frightened  eyes,  the  pale,  sober 
face.  The  coroner  smiled,  a  little,  grim  smile 
that  touched  some  unpleasant  part  of  me,  then 
abruptly  turned  to  Mrs.  Gentry,  the  housekeeper. 

"I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  give  publicly,  Mrs. 
Gentry,  the  testimony  you  gave  me  before  this 
inquest." 

"I  didn't  tell  you  that  to  speak  out  in  court," 
the  woman  replied,  angrily.  "There  wasn't 
nothin'  to  it,  anyway.  I'm  sorry  I  told  you " 

"That's  for  me  to  decide — whether  there  was 
anything  to  it.  It  won't  injure  any  one  who  is 
innocent,  Mrs.  Gentry.  What  happened,  about 
ten-thirty  or  eleven  o'clock." 

The  woman  answered  as  if  under  compulsion 


KASTLE   KRAGS  167 

— in  the  helpless  voice  of  one  who,  in  a  long  life's 
bitter  struggle,  has  learned  the  existence  of  many 
masters.  Mrs.  Gentry  had  learned  to  yield.  To 
her  this  trivial  court  was  a  resistless  power,  many 
of  which  existed  in  her  world. 

"I  was  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  on  the  second 
floor — tendin'  to  a  little  work.  Then  I  saw  Miss 
Edith  come  stealin'  out  of  her  room." 

"You  say  she  was  'stealing.'  Describe  how 
she  came.  Did  she  give  the  impression  of  trying 
to  go — unseen?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  think  she  wanted  any  one  to  see 
her.  She  went  on  tip-toe." 

"Did  she  carry  anything  in  her  hands?" 

"Yes.  She  had  a  black  book,  not  big  and  not 
little  either.  She  had  it  under  her  arm.  She 
crept  along  the  hall,  and  a  door  opened  to  let 
her  in." 

"What  door  was  it?" 

"The  door  of  Mr.  Nealman's  suite — a  little 
hall,  with  one  door  leading  into  his  chamber — 
the  other  to  his  study." 

"Nealman  opened  the  door  for  her,  then?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  his  sleeve  as  he  closed  it  behind 
her." 

The  coroner's  face  grew  stern,  and  he  turned 
once  more  to  Edith.  To  all  outward  appearance 
she  hadn't  heard  the  testimony.  She  leaned  easily 


168  KASTLE   KRAGS 

in  her  big  chair,  and  her  palm  rested  under  her 
chin.  Her  eyes  were  shadowy  and  far-away. 

"How  can  you  account  for  that,  Miss  Neal- 
man?" Weldon  asked. 

"There's  nothing  I  can  say  about  it,"  was  her 
quiet  answer. 

"You  admit  it's  true,  then?" 

"I  can't  make  Mrs.  Gentry  out  a  liar."  It 
seemed  to  me  that  a  dim  smile  played  at  her  lips ; 
but  it  was  a  thing  even  closely  watching  eyes 
might  easily  mistake.  "It's  perfectly  true." 

"Then  why,  Miss  Nealman,  did  you  tell  us  a 
few  minutes  ago  you  hadn't  seen  Mr.  Nealman 
since  afternoon?  That  was  a  lie,  was  it  not?  I 
didn't  ask  you  to  take  formal  oath  when  you  gave 
me  your  testimony.  I  presumed  you'd  stay  by  the 
truth.  Why  did  you  tell  us  what  you  did?" 

"I  didn't  see  any  use  in  trying  to  explain.  I 
didn't  tell  you — because  Mr.  Nealman  asked  me 
not  to." 

A  little  shiver  of  expectancy  passed  over  the 
court.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  that — he  asked  me  to  tell  no  one  about 
my  visit  to  the  little  study  adjoining  his  room. 
The  whole  thing  was  simply  this — there's  cer- 
tainly no  good  in  withholding  it  any  more. 
About  eleven  he  rang  for  me.  There  is  a  bell, 
you  know,  that  connects  that  study  with  my 


KASTLE    KRAGS  169 

room.  I  answered  it  as  I've  always  done.  He 
asked  me  if  I  had  a  Bible — and  I  told  him  I  did. 
He  asked  me  to  get  it  for  him,  as  quietly  as 
possible. 

"I  got  it — quietly  as  possible — just  as  he  said. 
There  was  nothing  very  peculiar  about  it — he 
often  wants  some  book  out  of  the  library.  I  gave 
him  the  book  and  he  dismissed  me,  first  asking 
me  to  tell  no  one,  under  any  conditions,  that  he 
had  asked  for  it.  I  didn't  know  why  he  asked  it, 
but  he  is  my  employer,  and  I  complied  with  his 
request.  Mrs.  Gentry  saw  me  as  I  was  coming 
down  the  hall  with  the  Bible  under  my  arm.  I 
didn't  tell  you  about  it  because  he  asked  me 
not  to." 

"It  was  your  Bible,  then,  that  we  found  in  his 
room?" 

"Of  course." 

"Mr.  Nealman  was  given  to  reading  the  Bible 
at  various  times  ?" 

"On  the  contrary  I  don't  think  he  ever  read 
it.  He  didn't  have  a  copy.  He  was  not,  out- 
wardly, according  to  the  usual  manifestations,  a 
highly  religious  man." 

"Yet  you  say  he  was  intrinsically  religious? 
At  least,  that  he  had  religious  instincts?" 

"He  had  very  fine  instincts.  He  had  a  great 
deal  of  natural  religion." 


170  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"You  often  brought  him  books,  you  say.  Yet 
you  must  have  thought  it  peculiar — that  he  would 
ask  for  the  Bible — in  the  dead  of  night." 

"Yes."  Her  voice  dropped  a  tone.  "Of 
course  it  was  peculiar." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  notify  some  one  about 
it?" 

"Because  he  told  me  not  to." 

The  coroner  seemed  baffled — but  only  for  an 
instant.  "Did  it  occur  to  you  that  he  was  per- 
haps trying  to  get  some  religious  consolation — 
just  before  he  took  some  important  or  tragic 
step?  Did  the  thought  of — suicide  ever  occur  to 
you?" 

"No.  It  didn't  occur  to  me.  My  uncle  didn't 
commit  suicide." 

"You  have  only  your  beliefs  as  to  that?" 

"Yes,  but  they  are  enough.  I  know  him  too 
well.  I'm  sure  he  didn't  commit  suicide." 

"How  did  he  appear  when  you  talked  to  him 
— excited,  frenzied?  Did  he  seem  changed  at 
all?" 

"I  think  he  was  somewhat  excited.  His  eyes 
were  very  bright.  I  wouldn't  call  him  desperate, 
however.  He  was  dressed  in  the  flannels  he  had 
worn  when  he  went  to  his  room.  Of  course  he 
looked  dreadfully  worn  and  tired — he  had  been 
through  a  great  deal  that  day.  As  you  know  he 


KASTLE   KRAGS  171 

had  just  heard  about  his  frightful  losses  on  the 
stock  exchange,  wiping  out  his  entire  fortune  and 
even  leaving  some  few  debts." 

"You  went  away  quietly — at  once?  Leaving 
him  to  read  the  Bible?" 

"Very  soon.  We  talked  a  few  minutes, 
perhaps." 

Then  the  coroner  began  upon  a  series  of  ques- 
tions that  were  abhorrent  to  every  man  in  the 
room.  There  was  nothing  to  do,  however,  but  to 
listen  to  them  in  silence.  The  man  was  within 
his  rights. 

"You  say  that  Nealman  was  your  uncle?"  he 
asked. 

The  girl's  eyes  fastened  on  his,  and  narrowed 
as  we  watched  her.  "Of  course.  My  father's 
brother." 

"A  blood  relative,  eh?"  The  coroner  spoke 
more  slowly,  carefully.  "I  suppose  you  could 
prove  that  point  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  court." 

"With  a  little  time.  I'd  have  to  go  back  to  the 
records  of  my  own  old  home.  What  are  you 
getting  at?" 

"What  was  your  father's  name,  may  I  ask?" 

"Henry  H.  Nealman." 

"Older  or  younger  than  Grover  Nealman?" 

"Nearly  ten  years  older,  or  thereabouts." 

"Where  was  Mr.  Nealman  born?" 


172  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"In  Rensselaer,  New  York.  His  father  was 
named  Henry  H.  Nealman,  also.  He  was  a  rug 
manufacturer.  There  was  also  one  sister  that 
died  many  years  ago — Grace  Nealman.  Are  you 
satisfied  that  I  am  really  his  niece,  Mr.  Weldon?" 

"Perfectly."  The  coroner  nodded,  slowly. 
"Perfectly  satisfied." 

He  dismissed  her,  but  it  came  about  that  I 
failed  to  hear  the  testimony  given  immediately 
thereafter.  One  of  Slatterly's  men  that  had  been 
sent  for  to  help  him  drag  the  lake  brought  me  in 
a  telegram. 

It  was  the  belated  answer  to  the  wire  I  had 
sent  to  Mrs.  Noyes,  of  New  Hampshire  the  pre- 
vious day,  and  signed  by  the  woman's  husband. 
It  read  as  follows : 

MY  WIFE  DIED  LAST  MONTH 
LEAVING  ME  TO  MOURN.  THE 
LETTERS  WERE  UNQUESTION- 
ABLY FROM  GEORGE  FLOREY 
DAVID'S  BROTHER.  THEY  HAVE 
BEEN  BITTER  ENEMIES  SINCE 
YOUTH  OVER  SOME  SECRET  BUSI- 
NESS. FIND  GEORGE  FLOREY  AND 
YOU  WILL  FIND  THE  MURDERER. 
I  HAVEN'T  EVER  SEEN  HIM  AND 
SO  FAR  HAVE  BEEN  UNABLE  TO 
FIND  PHOTO.  IF  ONE  TURNS  UP  I 
WILL  SEND  IT  ON. 

WILLIAM  NOYES. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

GROVER  NEALMAN  had  disappeared,  and  no 
search  could  bring  him  back  to  Kastle  Krags.  The 
hope  that  we  all  had,  that  some  way,  some  how 
he  would  reappear — destroying  in  a  moment  that 
strange,  ghastly  tradition  that  these  last  two 
nights  had  established — died  in  our  souls  as  the 
daylight  hours  sped  by.  Even  if  we  could  have 
found  him  dead  it  would  have  been  some  relief. 
In  that  case  we  could  ascribe  his  death  to  some- 
thing we  could  understand — a  sudden  sickness,  a 
murderer's  blow,  perhaps  even  his  own  hand  at 
his  throat,  all  of  which  were  within  our  bourne  of 
human  experience.  But  it  was  vaguely  hard  for 
us  to  have  two  men  go,  on  successive  nights,  and 
have  no  knowledge  whence  or  how  they  had  gone. 

Of  course  no  man  hinted  at  this  hardship.  It 
was  simply  the  sort  of  thing  that  could  not  be  dis- 
cussed by  intelligent  men.  Yet  we  were  human, 
only  a  few  little  generations  from  the  tribal  fire 
and  the  witch-doctors,  and  it  got  under  our  skins. 

Grover  Nealman's  body  was  not  lying  in  some 
unoccupied  part  of  the  house,  nor  did  we  find  him 

173 


174  KASTLEKRAGS 

in  the  gardens.  Telephone  messages  were  sent, 
but  Nealman  had  not  been  seen.  And  after  six 
hours  of  patient  search,  under  that  Floridan  sun, 
it  was  no  longer  easy  to  believe  that  he  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  the  lagoon. 

The  sheriff's  men  dragged  tirelessly,  widening 
out  their  field  of  search  until  it  covered  most  of 
the  lagoon,  but  they  found  neither  Nealman  nor 
Florey.  Some  of  the  work  was  done  in  the  flow- 
tide,  when  the  waves  breaking  on  the  rocky  bar- 
rier made  the  lagoon  itself  choppy  and  rough. 
They  came  in  tired  and  discouraged,  ready  to 
give  up. 

In  the  meantime  Van  Hope  had  heard  from 
Lacone — but  his  message  was  not  very  encourag- 
ing either.  It  would  likely  be  forty  hours,  he 
said,  before  he  could  arrive  at  Kastle  Krags.  Of 
course  Van  Hope  and  his  friends  agreed  that 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  him. 

The  sun  reached  high  noon  and  then  began  his 
long,  downward  drift  to  the  West.  The  shadows 
slowly  lengthened  almost  imperceptibly  at  first, 
but  with  gradually  increasing  speed.  The  heat  of 
the  day  climbed,  reached  its  zenith ;  the  diamond- 
back  slept  heavily  in  the  shade,  a  deadly  slumber 
that  was  evil  to  look  upon;  and  the  water  moc- 
casin hung  lifelessly  in  his  thickets — and  then,  so 
slowly  as  to  pass  belief,  the  little  winds  from  the 


KASTLE   KRAGS  175 

West  sprang  up,  bringing  relief.  It  would  soon 
be  night  at  Kastle  Krags.  The  afternoon  was  al- 
most gone. 

Not  one  of  those  northern  men  mentioned  the 
fact.  They  were  Anglo-Saxons,  and  that  meant 
there  were  certain  iron-clad  restraints  on  their 
speech.  Because  of  this  inherent  reserve  they  had 
to  bottle  up  their  thoughts,  harbor  them  in  si- 
lence, with  the  risk  of  a  violent  nerve  explosion, 
in  the  end.  Insanity  is  not  common  among  the 
Latin  peoples.  They  find  easy  expression  in 
words  for  all  the  thoughts  that  plague  them,  thus 
escaping  that  strain  and  tension  that  works  such 
havoc  on  the  nervous  system.  Slatterly  and  Wei- 
don,  native  Floridans,  had  learned  a  certain  so- 
ciability and  ease  of  expression  under  that  tropical 
sun,  impossible  to  these  cold,  northern  men;  and 
consequently  the  day  passed  easier  for  them. 
Likely  they  talked  over  freely  the  mystery  of  Kas- 
tle Krags,  relieved  themselves  of  their  secret 
dreads,  and  awaited  the  falling  of  the  night  with 
healthy,  unburdened  minds.  They  were  nat- 
urally more  superstitious  than  the  Northerners. 
They  had  listened  to  Congo  myths  in  the  arms  of 
colored  mammies  in  infancy.  But  superstition, 
while  a  retarding  force  to  civilization,  is  some- 
times a  mighty  consolation  to  the  spirit.  The 
tribes  of  Darkest  Africa,  seeing  many  things  that 


176  KASTLE   KRAGS 

in  their  barbarism  they  can  not  understand,  find  it 
wiser  to  turn  to  superstition  than  to  go  mad. 
Thus  they  escape  that  bitter,  nerve-wracking 
struggle  of  trying  to  adjust  some  inexplicable 
mystery  with  their  every-day  laws  of  matter  and 
space  and  time.  They  likely  find  it  happier  to 
believe  in  witchcraft  than  to  fight  hopelessly  with 
fear  in  silence. 

A  little  freedom,  a  little  easy  expression  of 
secret  thoughts  might  have  redeemed  those  long, 
silent  hours  just  before  nightfall.  But  no  man 
told  another  what  he  was  really  thinking,  and 
every  man  had  to  win  his  battle  for  himself.  The 
result  was  inevitable:  a  growing  tension  and  sus- 
pense in  the  very  air. 

It  was  a  strange  atmosphere  that  gathered  over 
Kastle  Krags  in  those  early  evening  hours.  Some 
way  it  gave  no  image  of  reality.  It  was  vaguely 
hard  to  talk — the  mind  moved  along  certain 
channels  and  could  not  be  turned  aside.  We 
couldn't  disregard  the  fact  that  the  night  was 
falling.  The  hours  of  darkness  were  even  now 
upon  us.  And  no  man  could  keep  from  thinking 
of  their  possibilities. 

I  noticed  a  certain  irritability  on  the  part  of 
all  the  guests.  Their  nerves  were  on  edge,  their 
tempers — almost  forgotten  in  their  years  of  so- 
cial intercourse — excitable  and  uncertain.  They 


KASTLE   KRAGS  177 

were  all  pre-occupied,  busy  with  their  own 
thoughts — and  a  man  started  when  another  spoke 
to  him. 

It  couldn't  be  truly  said  that  they  had  been 
conquered  by  fear.  These  were  self-reliant,  mas- 
terful men,  trained  from  the  ground  up  to  be 
strong  in  the  face  of  danger.  Yet  the  mystery  of 
Kastle  Krags  was  getting  to  them.  They  couldn't 
forget  that  for  two  nights  running  some  power 
that  dwelt  on  that  eerie  shore  had  claimed  one 
of  the  occupants  of  the  manor  house — and  that  a 
third  night  was  even  now  encroaching  over  the 
forest.  Any  legend  however  strange  concerning 
the  old  house  could  not  wake  laughter  now.  It 
was  true  that  from  time  to  time  one  of  the  guests 
laughed  at  another's  sallies,  but  always  the  sound 
rang  shockingly  loud  over  the  verandas  and  was 
some  way  disquieting  to  every  one  that  heard  it. 
Nor  did  we  hear  any  happy,  carefree  laughter 
such  as  had  filled  the  halls  that  first  night. 
Rather  these  were  nervous,  excited  sounds,  con- 
veying no  image  of  mirth,  and  jarring  unpleas- 
antly on  us  all. 

The  hot  spell  of  the  previous  night  was  for- 
tunately broken,  yet  some  of  us  chose  to  sit  on  the 
verandas.  Through  rifts  in  the  trees  we  could 
watch  the  darkness  creeping  over  the  sea  and  the 
lagoon.  There  was  no  pleasure  here — but  it  was 


178  KASTLE   KRAGS 

some  way  better  than  staying  in  our  rooms  and 
letting  the  night  creep  upon  us  unawares.  It 
seemed  better  to  face  it  and  watch  it,  staring  away 
into  it  with  rather  bright,  wide-open  eyes.  .  .  . 

The  trees  blurred  on  the  lawns.  The  trunks 
faded  until  they  seemed  like  the  trunks  of  ghost- 
trees,  haunting  that  ancient  shore.  It  was  no 
longer  possible  to  distinguish  twig  from  twig 
where  the  branches  overlapped. 

The  green  grass  became  a  strange,  dusky 
blue;  the  gray  sand  of  the  shore  whitened;  the 
blue-green  waters  turned  to  ink  except  for  their 
silver-white  caps  of  foam.  Watching  closely,  our 
eyes  gradually  adjusted  themselves  to  the  fading 
light,  conveying  the  impression  that  the  twilight 
was  of  unusual  length.  Perhaps  we  didn't  quite 
know  when  the  twilight  ended  and  the  night 
began. 

The  usual  twilight  sounds  reached  us  with  par- 
ticular vividness  from  the  lagoon  and  the  forest 
and  the  shore.  We  heard  the  plover,  as  ever; 
and  deeper  voices — doubtless  those  of  passing 
sea-birds,  mingled  with  theirs.  But  the  sounds 
came  intermittently,  sharp  and  penetrating  out  of 
the  darkness  and  the  silence,  and  they  always 
startled  us  a  little.  Sometimes  the  thickets  rus- 
tled in  the  gardens — little,  hushed  noises  none  of 
us  pretended  to  hear.  A  frog  croaked,  and  the 


KASTLE   KRAGS  179 

hushed  little  wind  creaked  the  tree-limbs  together. 
Once  some  wild  creature — possibly  a  wildcat,  but 
more  likely  a  great  owl — filled  the  night  with  his 
weird,  long-drawn  cry.  We  all  turned,  and  Van 
Hope,  sitting  near  by,  smiled  wanly  in  the  gloom. 

Darkness  had  already  swept  the  verandas,  and 
Van  Hope's  was  the  only  face  I  could  see.  The 
others  were  already  blurred,  and  even  their 
forms  were  mere  dark  blotches  of  shadow.  A 
vague  count  showed  that  there  was  six  of  us  here 
— and  I  was  suddenly  rather  startled  by  the 
thought  that  I  didn't  know  just  who  they  were. 
The  group  had  changed  from  time  to  time 
throughout  the  evening,  some  of  the  men  had  gone 
and  others  had  taken  their  chairs,  and  now  the 
darkness  concealed  their  identities.  It  shouldn't 
have  made  any  difference,  yet  I  found  myself 
dwelling,  with  a  strange  persistency,  on  the 
subject. 

The  reason  got  down  to  the  simple  fact  that, 
in  this  house  of  mystery,  a  man  instinctively 
wanted  to  keep  track  of  all  his  fellows.  He 
wanted  to  know  where  they  were  and  what  they 
were  doing.  He  found  himself  worrying  when 
one  of  them  was  gone.  I  suppose  it  was  the  in- 
stinct of  protection — a  feeling  that  a  man's  ab- 
sence might  any  moment  result  in  a  shrill  scream 
of  fear  or  death  in  the  darkness.  Van  Hope  sat 


180  KASTLE   KRAGS 

to  my  left,  a  little  further  to  the  right  was  Wei- 
don,  the  coroner.  There  were  three  chairs 
further  to  the  right,  but  which  of  the  five  remain- 
ing guests  occupied  them  I  did  not  know. 

Three  white  men — two  of  the  guests  and  the 
sheriff — were  unaccounted  for.  My  better  intel- 
ligence told  me  that  they  were  either  in  the  living- 
room  or  the  library,  perhaps  in  their  own  rooms, 
yet  it  was  impossible  to  forget  that  these  men 
were  of  the  white  race,  largely  free  from  the  su- 
perstition that  kept  the  blacks  safely  from  the 
perilous  shores  of  the  lagoon.  Any  one  of  a 
dozen  reasons  might  send  them  walking  down 
through  the  gardens  to  those  gray  crags  from 
which  they  might  never  return. 

I  found  myself  wondering  about  Edith,  too. 
She  had  excused  herself  and  had  gone  to  her 
room,  ostensibly  to  bed,  but  I  couldn't  forget  our 
conversation  of  the  previous  night  and  her  re- 
solve to  fathom  the  mystery  of  her  uncle's  dis- 
appearance. Would  she  remain  in  the  security  of 
her  room,  or  must  I  guard  her,  too? 

How  slow  the  time  passed!  The  darkness 
deepened  over  land  and  sea.  The  moon  had  not 
yet  risen — indeed  it  would  not  appear  until  after 
midnight.  The  great,  white  Floridan  stars,  how- 
ever, had  pushed  through  the  dark  blue  canopy  of 
the  night,  and  their  light  lay  softly  over  the  gar- 


KASTLE   KRAGS  181 

dens.  The  guests  talked  in  muffled  tones,  their 
excited  laughter  ringing  out  at  ever  longer  inter- 
vals. The  coals  of  their  cigars  glowed  like  fire- 
flies in  the  gloom. 

By  ten  o'clock  two  of  the  six  chairs  were  va- 
cant. Two  of  the  guests  had  tramped  away 
heavily  to  their  rooms,  not  passing  so  near 
that  I  could  make  sure  of  their  identity.  Soon 
after  this  a  very  deep  and  curious  silence  fell  over 
the  veranda. 

The  two  men  to  my  right,  Weldon  the  coroner 
and  one  of  the  guests,  were  smoking  quietly,  evi- 
dently in  a  lull  in  their  conversation.  I  didn't 
particularly  notice  them.  Their  silence  was 
some  way  natural  and  easy,  nothing  to  startle  the 
heart  or  arrest  the  breath.  If  they  had  been  talk- 
ing, however,  perhaps  the  moment  would  have 
never  got  hold  of  me  as  it  did.  The  silence 
seemed  to  deepen  with  an  actual  sense  of  motion, 
like  something  growing,  and  a  sensation  as  inex- 
plicable as  it  was  unpleasant  slowly  swept  over 
me. 

It  was  a  creepy,  haunting  feeling  that  had  its 
origin  somewhere  beyond  the  five  senses.  Out- 
wardly there  was  nothing  to  startle  me,  unless  it 
was  that  curious,  deepening  silence.  The  dark- 
ness, the  shore,  the  starlit  gardens  were  just  the 
same.  Nor  was  it  a  perceptible,  abrupt  start.  It 


182  KASTLE   KRAGS 

came  slowly,  growing,  creeping  through  me.  I 
had  no  inclination  to  make  any  perceptible  mo- 
tion, or  to  show  that  anything  was  different  than 
it  was  before.  I  turned  slowly  to  Van  Hope, 
sitting  to  my  left. 

Instinctively  I  knew  that  here  was  the  source 
of  my  alarm.  It  was  something  that  my  subcon- 
scious self  had  picked  up  from  him.  He  was  sit- 
ting motionless  in  his  chair,  his  hand  that  held 
his  cigar  half  raised  to  his  lips,  staring  away  into 
the  distant  gardens. 

There  is  something  bad  for  the  spirit  in  the 
sight  of  an  entirely  motionless  figure.  The  reason 
is  simply  that  it  is  out  of  accord  with  nature — 
that  the  very  soul  of  things,  from  the  tree  on  the 
hill  to  the  stars  in  the  sky,  is  motion  never  ending. 
A  figure  suddenly  changed  to  stone  focuses  the 
attention  much  more  surely  than  any  sudden  sound 
or  movement.  Perhaps  it  has  its  origin  in  the 
deep-hidden  instincts,  harking  back  to  those  long 
ago  times  when  the  sudden  arresting  of  all  mo- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  companion  indicated  the 
presence  of  some  great  danger  and  an  attempt  to 
escape  its  gaze.  Even  to-day  it  indicates  a 
thought  so  compelling  that  the  half-unconscious 
physical  functions  are  suspended :  a  fear  or  a  sen- 
sation so  violent  that  life  seems  to  die  in  the  body. 

Van  Hope  couldn't  get  his  cigar  to  his  lips.    He 


KASTLE   KRAGS  183 

held  it  between  his  fingers,  a  few  inches  in  front. 
He  was  watching  so  intently  that  his  face  looked 
absolutely  blank.  A  little  shiver  that  was  some 
way  related  to  fear  passed  over  me,  and  I  had  all 
the  sensations  of  being  violently  startled.  Then 
Van  Hope  suddenly  got  to  his  feet  with  a  short, 
low  exclamation. 

Our  nerves  on  edge,  instantly  all  three  of  us 
were  beside  him — Weldon,  myself,  and  Joe 
Nopp.  All  of  us  tried  to  follow  his  gaze  into 
the  gloom.  "What  is  it?"  Weldon  asked. 

Van  Hope,  seemingly  scarcely  aware  of  us  be- 
fore, instantly  rallied  his  faculties  and  turned  to 
us.  In  a  single  instant  he  had  wrenched  back 
complete  self-control — an  indication  of  self-mas- 
tery such  as  I  had  rarely  seen  surpassed.  He 
smiled  a  little,  in  the  gloom,  and  dropped  his 
hand  to  his  side. 

"I  suppose  it  was  nothing,"  he  answered.  "I 
guess  I'm  jumpy.  Maybe  half  asleep.  But  I 
saw  some  one — walking  through  the  gardens 
down  by  the  lagoon." 

Van  Hope  spoke  rather  lightly,  in  a  wholly 
commonplace  voice.  He  had  not  been,  however, 
half  asleep.  The  frozen  face  I  had  seen  was  of 
complete  wakefulness. 

"A  man,  you  say — down  by  the  lagoon?"  Wel- 
don asked. 


184  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"Yes.  Of  course  there's  always  a  chance  for 
a  mistake.  Probably  it  wouldn't  be  anything  any- 
way— just  one  of  the  men  getting  a  little  air. 
Watch  a  minute — maybe  you'll  see  him  again." 

We  watched  in  silence,  and  listened  to  one  an- 
other's breathing.  But  the  faint  shadows,  in  that 
starlit  vista,  were  unwavering. 

"It  wasn't  likely  anything "  Van  Hope  said 

apologetically.  "I  was  thinking,  though,  that 
any  stranger  ought  to  be  investigated " 

"He  had,  too,"  Weldon  agreed.  "Not  just  any 
stranger.  Any  one  who  goes  walking  down  there 
in  the  darkness  ought  to  be  questioned — whether 
he's  one  of  us  or  not.  But  are  you  sure  you  saw 
anything?" 

"Not  sure  at  all.  I  thought  I  did,  though.  I 
thought  I  saw  him  step,  distinctly,  through  a  rift 
in  the  trees.  Excuse  me  for  bothering  you." 

None  of  us  felt  any  embarrassment  on  Van 
Hope's  account,  or  any  superciliousness  if  he  had 
been  unnecessarily  alarmed.  It  was  wholly  nat- 
ural, this  third  night  of  three,  to  wonder  and  be 
stirred  by  any  moving  thing  in  the  darkened 
gardens. 

But  we  waited  and  watched  in  vain.  There 
were  no  cries  from  the  shore  of  the  lagoon.  The 
silence  remained  unbroken,  and  after  awhile  the 
thought  turned  to  other  channels. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  185 

Van  Hope  rose  at  last,  hurled  his  cigar  stub  to 
the  lawns  and  for  a  breath  stood  watching  its 
glowing  end  pale  and  die.  The  disappearance  of 
his  old  friend  had  gone  hard  with  him.  You 
could  see  it  in  the  stoop  of  his  shoulders.  He 
looked  several  years  older. 

"Nothing  to  do  now — but  go  to  bed,"  he 
commented  quietly.  "Maybe  we  can  get  some 
sleep  to-night." 

"The  third  night's  the  charm,"  Nopp  answered 
grimly.  "How  do  we  know  but  that  before  this 
night  is  over  we'll  be  gathered  out  here  again." 
He  paused,  and  we  tried  to  smile  at  him  in  the 
darkness.  Nopp  was  speaking  with  a  certain 
grim  humor,  yet  whatever  his  intentions,  none  of 
us  got  the  idea  that  he  was  jesting.  "It's  worked 
two  nights — why  not  three.  I'd  believe  anything 
could  happen  at  this  goblin  house " 

We  listened  to  him  with  relief.  It  was  some 
way  good  for  our  spirits  to  have  one  of  us  speak 
out  what  we  had  all  been  thinking  and  had 
strained  so  hard  to  hide.  Nor  did  we  think  less 
of  him  for  his  frankness.  We  knew  at  first,  and 
we  knew  now,  that  Nopp's  nerve  was  as  good  or 
better  than  any  man  in  the  gathering,  and  he  had 
never  showed  it  better  than  in  speaking  frankly 
now. 

"Bunk,  Nopp,"  Van  Hope  answered.     "You're 


186  KASTLE    KRAGS 

mixing  coincidence  up  with  atmosphere.  It  was 
a  strange  and  a  devilish  thing  that  those  two 
crimes  should  have  happened  two  nights  running, 
but  it  will  work  out  perfectly  plausible — mark 
my  words.  And  coincidences  don't  happen  three 
times  in  a  row." 

Nopp  lifted  his  face  to  the  starlit  skies.  "My 
boy,"  he  said,  rather  superciliously,  "anything 
could  happen  at  Kastle  Krags." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

AFTER  I  went  to  my  room  I  worked  for  an 
hour  on  the  cryptogram,  found  beside  Florey's 
body.  The  mysterious  column  of  four-letter 
words,  however,  did  not  respond  to  any  methods 
of  translation  that  I  knew.  For  another  hour 
thereafter  I  lay  awake  in  my  bed  beside  the 
window. 

It  was  one  of  the  few  spots  in  the  house  that 
offered  a  fairly  clear  glimpse  of  the  lagoon.  The 
trees  opened,  like  curtains:  I  could  see  the  water 
darkly  blue  in  the  starlight,  and  the  faint,  gray 
line,  like  a  crayon  mark,  that  was  the  natural 
rock  wall.  The  tide  was  coming  in  now :  I  could 
see  the  white  manes  of  the  sea-horses  as  they 
charged  over  the  barrier.  The  whole  surface  of 
the  lagoon  was  fretted  by  them. 

Had  Nopp  spoken  true — could  there  be  a  recur- 
rence of  last  night's  tragedy?  Could  any  situa- 
tion arise  in  human  affairs  that  would  result  in 
three  murders,  one  after  another,  all  under  prac- 
tically the  same  and  the  most  mysterious  condi- 
tions? It  was  possible,  by  a  long  stretch  of  the 

187 


188  KASTLE    KRAGS 

imagination,  to  conceive  of  two  such  crimes  oc- 
curring on  successive  nights — the  murderer 
striking  again,  through  some  unknown  movement 
of  events,  to  hide  his  first  crime — but  coinci- 
dences do  not  happen  thrice !  If  indeed  these  dis- 
appearances could  be  wholly  attributed  to  human 
activities,  human  designs  and  human  passions, 
there  was  no  need  of  lying  awake  and  expectant 
this  third  night.  Surely  no  super-criminal  had 
declared  remorseless  war  against  all  of  the  occu- 
pants of  that  house.  Certainly  we  could  sleep  in 
peace  to-night! 

But  I  could  n't  get  away  from  the  same  thought 
that  haunted  me  before — that  these  crimes  lay 
somehow  without  the  bourne  of  human  event  and 
circumstance,  that  they  were  some  way  native  to 
this  strange,  old  manor-house  beside  the  sea.  It 
wasn't  easy  to  lose  one's  self  in  sleep.  I  felt  no 
shame  at  my  own  uneasiness.  It  was  true 
that  the  crimes  had  both  occurred,  evidently,  on 
the  shore  of  or  near  the  lagoon,  but  could  the 
curse  that  lay  upon  the  old  estate  extend  its  bale- 
ful influence  into  the  house  itself?  Anything 
could  happen  at  Kastle  Krags,  Nopp  had  said, 
and  it  became  increasingly  difficult  to  disbelieve 
him. 

Since  the  intrusion  of  two  nights  before  I  had 
slept  with  a  chair  blocked  firmly  against  my  door, 


KASTLE   KRAGS  189 

knowing  that  no  one  could  enter  from  the  cor- 
ridor, at  least  without  waking  me.  My  own  pis- 
tol lay  just  under  my  mattress  where  the  hand 
could  reach  it  in  an  instant.  Both  these  things 
were  an  immense  consolation  now.  I  would  not 
be  so  helpless  in  case  of  another  midnight  visitor. 

Yet  I  had  no  after-image  of  terror  in  thinking 
upon  the  intruder  of  two  nights  before.  Strange- 
ly, that  hand  reaching  in  the  flashlight  was  the 
one  redeeming  feature  of  this  affair  of  Kastle 
Krags.  That  hand  was  flesh  and  blood,  and  thus 
the  whole  mystery  seemed  of  flesh  and  blood  too. 
If  this  incident  did  not  confine  the  mystery  to  the 
realm  of  human  affairs,  at  least  it  showed  that 
there  were  human  motives  and  human  agents 
playing  their  parts  in  it. 

Was  that  intruder  Pescini?  The  hand  could 
easily  have  been  his — firm,  strong,  aristocratic, 
sensitive  and  white.  After  all,  there  was  quite  a 
case  to  be  made  aginst  Pescini.  "Find  George 
Florey  and  you'll  find  the  murderer,"  William 
Noyes  had  written.  And  the  whole  business  of 
proving  that  Pescini  was  George  Florey  was  sim- 
ply that  of  proving  his  handwriting  and  that  of 
the  "George"  notes  we  had  found  in  the  butler's 
room  were  the  same. 

"They  have  been  bitter  enemies  since  youth." 
Rich,  proud,  distinguished,  had  this  bearded  man 


190  KASTLE    KRAGS 

carried  a  life-long  hatred  for  the  humble  servitor 
of  Kastle  Krags?  What  boyhood  rivalry,  what 
malice,  what  blinding,  bitter  jealousy  had  wak- 
ened such  a  hatred  as  this?  Yet  who  can  trace 
the  slightest  action  from  its  origin  to  its  consum- 
mation; much  less  such  a  complex  human  drama 
as  this.  No  man  can  see  truly  into  the  human 
heart.  It  seemed  fairly  credible  that  this  gray 
servant  might  hate,  with  that  bitter  hatred  born 
of  jealousy,  his  richer,  more  distinguished  broth- 
er— yet  human  relations,  in  their  fullness,  are  be- 
yond the  ken  of  the  wisest  men.  It  would  be  easy 
to  prove  or  disprove  whether  or  not  Pescini  and 
Florey  were  brothers :  the  "George"  letters  were 
secure  in  the  hands  of  the  State,  and  a  copy  of 
Pescini's  handwriting  could  be  procured  with  ease. 
Besides  their  lives  and  origins  would  likely  be  easy 
to  trace. 

Florey's  letter  to  his  sister  was  further  proof 
of  Pescini's  guilt.  I  made  an  entirely  different 
interpretation  of  it  than  that  of  the  officials.  I 
did  not  think  that  he  was  referring  to  any  phys- 
ical disease.  I  believed,  at  the  first  hearing,  and 
I  believed  still  that  he  had  written  in  veiled  lan- 
guage of  the  persecutions  of  his  brother: 

"My  old  malady,  G is  troubling  me 

again,"  Florey  had  written.     "I  don't  think 
I  will  ever  be  rid  of  it.     It  is  certainly  the 


KASTLE   KRAGS  191 

Florey  burden — going  through  all  our  fam- 
ily. I  can't  hardly  sleep  and  don't  know 
how  I'll  ever  get  rid  of  it.  I'm  deeply  dis- 
couraged, yet  I  know  .  .  ." 

I  did  not  share  the  sheriff's  view  that  "G " 

referred  to  some  long-named  malady  that,  either 
for  the  sake  of  abbreviation  or  because  he  could 
not  spell  it,  he  had  neglected  to  write  out  in  full. 
I  felt  sure  it  meant  "George"  and  nothing  else. 
"The  Florey  burden " — what  was  more  rea- 
sonable than  that  his  family  had  been  cursed  by 
feuds  within.  I  hadn't  forgotten  my  talk  with 
Nealman.  He  had  spoken  of  the  hatred  some- 
times borne  by  one  brother  for  another;  and  had 
named  the  Jason  family,  main  characters  in  the 
treasure  legend  of  the  old  manor  house,  as  a  case 
in  point.  But  Florey  had  got  rid  of  his  burden  at 
last.  He  had  got  rid  of  it  by  death. 

Could  I  make  myself  believe  that  Pescini  had 
lured  his  brother  to  the  shore,  killed  him,  seized 
an  opportunity  to  hurl  his  body  into  the  lagoon, 
from  which,  by  the  thousandth  chance,  our  drag- 
hooks  had  failed  to  find  it;  and  the  following 
night,  to  conceal  his  guilt,  had  struck  down  his 
host?  Perhaps  the  former  was  true,  and  that  the 
crime,  coming  just  previous  to  his  own  financial 
failure,  had  suggested  suicide  to  Nealman's  mind. 
No  one  had  track  of  Pescini  the  night  of  the 


192  KASTLE   KRAGS 

crime.  For  that  matter,  unlike  Van  Hope,  Major 
Dell,  and  several  others,  he  was  not  undressed  and 
in  his  room  when  Nealman  had  disappeared. 
And  the  coroner  had  suggested  a  motive  for 
murder  in  the  matter  of  Pescini's  suit  for 
divorce. 

It  wasn't  easy  to  believe  that  such  an  obvi- 
ously distinguished  and  cultured  man  could  stoop 
to  murder.  There  is  such  a  thing,  criminologists 
say,  as  a  criminal  face;  but  Pescini  had  not  the 
least  semblance  of  it.  Criminologists  admit, 
however,  in  the  same  breath  that  they  are  con- 
stantly amazed  at  the  varied  types  that  are 
brought  before  them,  charged  with  the  most 
heinous  crimes.  Pescini  looked  kind,  self-mas- 
tered, not  given  to  outlaw  impulses.  Yet  who 
could  say  for  sure. 

I  was  already  falling  to  sleep.  It 

was  hard  to  keep  the  sequence  of  thought;  ab- 
surd fancies  swept  between.  Ever  my  hold  on 
wakefulness  was  less.  It  was  pleasant  to  be- 
lieve that  the  mystery  would  soon  be  unraveled, 
all  with  a  commonplace  explanation.  .  .  . 
At  first  I  gave  no  heed  to  a  rapid  footfall  in  the 
corridor. 

Yet  in  an  instant  I  was  wide  awake.  In  the 
silent  hall  the  footfall  was  perfectly  distinct, 
carrying  through  the  walls  of  my  room,  and 


KASTLE   KRAGS  193 

echoing  somewhere  in  the  wall  behind  me.  In 
any  quiet  home,  in  any  land,  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  disregard  those  footsteps.  There 
was  a  distinct  tone  of  urgency  behind  them  that 
simply  could  not  be  denied.  In  this  dark  house 
of  mystery  the  senses  rallied,  quickened,  and 
seemed  to  lie  waiting  to  contend  with  any 
emergency. 

The  steps  were  not  only  hurried  and  urgent. 
They  were  frenzied — although  they  were  not 
running  footsteps.  At  the  same  time  they  gave 
the  image  of  some  one  trying  to  hurry,  some 
one  trying  to  conquer  himself,  and  yet  not  move 
too  loudly.  It  was  as  if  he  was  some  way  fear- 
ful to  waken  the  poignant  silence  of  that  sha- 
dowed corridor. 

"He  is  coming  to  my  door,"  I  told  myself.  It 
was  wholly  likely  that  I  spoke  the  words  aloud; 
at  least,  I  believed  them  as  unwaveringly  as  if  the 
man  outside  had  thus  announced  his  intentions. 
No  man  can  ever  tell  how  such  knowledge  comes 
to  him.  Perhaps  it  is  coincidence — that  he  ex- 
pects such  a  summons  on  a  hundred  different 
occasions  before  it  ever  comes  to  him  in  reality. 
Yet  many  things  already  proven  true  are  a  thou- 
sand times  harder  to  believe  than  telepathy — the 
transmission  of  messages  according  to  no  known 
laws  of  matter  and  space. 


194  KASTLE   KRAGS 

The  tread  itself  was  peculiar.  It  had  an  odd, 
shuffling  quality  that  was  hard  to  analyze.  Then 
some  one  rapped  excitedly  on  my  door. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

I  was  already  out  of  bed,  groping  for  my 
light  switch. 

"It's  me — Wilkson,"  was  the  reply.  "Boss, 
will  ye  open  de  do'?" 

I  knew  Nealman's  colored  janitor — a  middle- 
aged  servant  of  an  old-fashioned,  almost  de- 
parted glory — but  for  an  instant  I  found  it 
almost  incredible  that  this  was  his  voice.  The 
tones  were  blurred,  lifeless,  spoken  as  if  from 
drawn  lips.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  be- 
lieve, and  I  fought  it  off  as  long  as  I  could :  that 
the  man  outside  my  door  was  simply  stricken 
and  almost  dead  with  fear. 

It  wasn't  easy  to  open  the  door  to  hear  what 
he  had  to  tell.  A  scream  in  the  night  is  one 
thing;  a  chattering  fellow  man,  just  on  the  other 
side  of  a  pine  door,  is  quite  another.  But  I  took 
away  the  chair  and  turned  the  knob. 

The  man's  face  was  almost  as  hard  to  recog- 
nize as  his  voice.  It  was  Wilkson,  beyond  pos- 
sibility of  doubt,  but  he  was  no  longer  the  tran- 
quil, genial  serving-man.  His  face  had  the 
strangest  gray  hue  pen  ever  tried  to  describe.  I 
could  see  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  his  lips  were 


KASTLE   KRAGS  195 

rounded,  he  was  almost  unconscious  from  sheer 
terror. 

At   that   moment   I   began   to   strive   hard   to 
remember  certain  truths — one  of  them  being  that 
little  things,  laughed  away  by  an  Anglo-Saxon, 
have  been  known  to  instill  the  most  unfathom- 
able depths  of  fear  into  an  unlettered  southern 
negro.     What  seemed  terrible  to  him  might  be 
only  laughable  to  me.     I  thought  of  these  things 
in  order  to  brace  myself  for  what  he  had  to  tell. 
At  that  moment  I  knew  the  inroads  that  the 
events  of  the  last  two  nights  had  made  upon  me 
— likely  upon  every  man  and  woman  in  the  house. 
I    could   have    met   that   gray   face  much   more 
bravely    the    night    previous,    and    would    have 
likely  been  largely  unmoved  by  it  two  nights  be- 
fore.    But  mystery,  the  lack  of  sleep,  the  terri- 
ble    possibilities    to     which     both     crimes    had 
pointed,     had    over-stretched    the    nerves     and 
taken  the  pith  from  the  thews.     The  sight  of 
that   terrified   face   sent   a   sharp    chill    of    fear 
through  every  avenue  of  my  nerves.     I  felt  its 
icy  touch  in  my  veins.     Kastle  Krags  was  getting 
to  me — denial  of  that  fact  was  impossible  even 
to  myself. 

"Iscuse  me,  Boss,"  he  said  humbly,  patheti- 
cally, if  I  had  ever  known  what  pathos  was.  In 
his  terror  he  wanted  to  propitiate  the  whole 


196  KASTLE   KRAGS 

world,  and  was  begging  my  indulgence  of  his  in- 
trusion. "Boss,  is  Majo'  Del  in  yo'  room?" 

"No."  I  didn't  reprove  him  for  failing  to 
notice  that  my  light  was  out.  "Where  is  he?" 

"Boss,  he  am  gone.  He's  gone  just  like  them 
other  two  am  gone."  His  voice  died  and  a  low 
moan  escaped  his  lips.  "Boss,  who'll  they  be 
takin'  nex'?  Gawd,  who'll  they  be  takin' 
nex' ?" 

I  seized  his  arm,  trying  to  steady  him.  "Lis- 
ten, Wilkson,"  I  commanded.  "How  do  you 
know  he's  gone " 

"Telephone  message  come  for  him,  Boss. 
Telegram,  from  Ochakee.  And  he  ain't  here  to 
get  it.  He's  gone — just  like  dem  oder  two  men 
has  gone  befo'  him." 


CHAPTER   XX 

IT  wasn't  easy  to  steady  Wilkson  so  that  he 
could  tell  an  intelligent  story.  His  own  dark 
superstitions  had  hold  of  him,  and  his  shambling 
search  through  the  darkened  corridors  had 
stretched  his  nerves  to  the  absolute  breaking- 
point.  It  was  evident  at  once  that  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  let  him  take  his  time  and  get 
the  story  out  the  best  he  could.  After  all,  im- 
mediate action  had  never  helped  matters  in  this 
affair  of  Kastle  Krags.  There  had  been  a  grim 
finality  about  everything  that  had  occurred. 
Th,ose  who  were  gone  had  not  been  brought 
back  by  prompt  search. 

He  did  not  respond  to  any  of  the  ruses  so 
often  used  to  get  a  colored  man  to  talk — scorn 
or  incredulity  or  sternness.  He  was  aware  of 
nothing  but  his  own  terror,  and  the  image  in 
those  fear-widened  eyes  no  man  could  guess. 

"You  say  a  telgram  came  for  him,  Wilkson?" 
I  asked  gently.  "Some  one  phoned  it  in?" 

"De  phone  bell  rung,  jus'  off  de  su'vant's 
rooms,"  he  explained.  "It  was  a  message  fo' 

197 


198  KASTLE   KRAGS 

Majo'  Dell.  'Get  him  up  to  get  dis  telegram,' 
some  white  gen'lman  said,  so  I  done  went  to  get 
him  up.  He  ain't  in  his  room.  Bed  not  been 
slept  in.  I  called  and  no  one  answered.  Den  I 
ask  Mrs.  Gentry — she  saw  him  go  down  the  hall 
hour  ago,  all  dressed,  and  seen  him  turn  in  yo' 
room " 

"He's  not  here.  He  hasn't  been  here."  I 
slipped  on  a  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  then 
stood  ,a  moment  with  Wilkson  in  the  darkened 
hall.  It  was  curious  that  the  housekeeper  should 
have  made  such  an  odd  mistake — thinking  that 
Dell  had  turned  into  my  door.  Perhaps  at  the 
distance  she  had  observed  she  confused  the  door 
either  to  the  right  or  left  with  mine. 

There  was  no  need  for  panic  yet.  Any  one  of 
a  dozen  things  might  have  explained  his  tempo- 
rary absence  from  his  room  in  the  dead  of 
night.  He  might  be  in  the  room  to  my  right — 
Fargo's  room — in  some  conference  with  his 
friend.  Yet  there  was  no  light  under  the  door. 

I  knocked  loudly.  Fargo  called  sharply  from 
his  bed. 

"Have  you  seen  Major  Dell?"  I  asked. 

"Dell?  No!  Good  Lord,  he  hasn't  disap- 
peared, too?" 

"We  can't  find  him."  I  heard  Fargo  spring 
from  his  bed,  and  I  turned  to  the  room  to  my 


KASTLE    KRAGS  199 

left.  Yet  in  an  instant  I  remembered  and 
halted  on  the  threshold.  This  was  Nealman's 
room,  dark  and  chill  with  shadows.  I  scratched 
a  match  and  lifted  it  high. 

But  no  one  was  here.  My  voice  rang  with 
a  hollow  sound  back  to  me.  Our  shouts  had 
aroused  Nopp,  and  in  a  moment  he  came  out 
in  the  hall  to  join  us.  I  think  Nopp  was  a 
steadying  influence  on  us  both.  He  walked, 
rather  than  ran,  he  was  perfectly  composed, 
wholly  himself,  and  his  voice  when  he  spoke 
was  low  and  even.  Yet  there  was  no  tone  or 
note  of  an  attempt  to  belittle  our  alarm.  He 
acted  as  I  have  seen  strong  men  act  in  the  pres- 
ence of  some  great  disaster — calmly,  soberly, 
rather  white-faced  and  silent,  but  unflinching 
and  steadfast. 

There  was  no  amazement  in  Nopp's  face. 
Evidently  he  had  expected  just  such  a  devel- 
opment. 

''Another  gone,  eh?"  he  said.  "I  wish  these 
devils  would  stay  in  their  rooms,  where  they 
belong.  What's  taking  them  out  there,  Kill- 
dare?" 

"How  do  I  know?  Maybe  they  just  can't 
sleep — want  to  walk '-' 

"They  wouldn't  want  to  walk  in  that  part  of 
the  grounds,  if  they're  human,  unless  they've 


200  KASTLE   KRAGS 

got  business  there.  But  no  matter.  We've  got 
to  look  around  for  him  at  least.  I  don't  sup- 
pose it  will  do  any  good " 

He    spoke    with    an    unmistakable     fatalism. 
"You  don't  mean — that  he's  gone  like  the  rest 


I  heard  our  low  breathing  as  I  waited  for 
his  answer.  "What's  the  use  of  fooling  our- 
selves any  more,  Killdare?"  he  replied  quietly. 
"We're  up  against  something — God  knows  what. 
Of  course  he's  gone — just  like  the  rest.  Where 
else  could  he  be?" 

We  turned  once  more  into  his  room.  Wil- 
kinson had  reported  rightly — his  bed  had  not 
been  slept  in,  and  there  was  not  the  slightest 
sign  of  disorder.  His  coat — a  well-made  gar- 
ment of  some  gray,  cotton  cloth  hung  on  the 
back  of  his  chair,  and  the  butts  of  two  cigars 
lay  on  his  smoking  stand.  He  was  not  in  his 
bathroom,  nor  did  we  hear  his  voice  from  some 
adjoining  room. 

And  now  all  the  other  guests,  all  of  whom 
slept  on  this  same  floor,  were  gathering  about 
us,  wakened  by  the  sound  of  our  voices.  Mar- 
ten came,  swearing  under  his  breath,  and  Van 
Hope's  brow  was  beaded  with  perspiration  that 
glistened  in  the  dim  light.  But  none  of  them 
knew  where  Major  Dell  was.  Indeed  none  of 


KASTLE   KRAGS  201 

them  had  seen  him  since  he  had  gone  to  his 
room. 

There  was  a  curious,  dream-like  quality  about 
the  little  session  that  we  had  together  at  the 
door  of  Dell's  room.  It  was  all  rather  dim, 
obscure,  the  voices  that  we  heard  seemed  to 
come  from  some  place  far  off,  and  that  ring 
of  faces  no  longer  looked  clear-cut  and  sharp. 
I  suppose  the  answer  lay  in  the  great  preoccu- 
pation that  was  upon  us  all,  a  struggle  for  un- 
derstanding that  engulfed  our  minds. 

There  were  no  excited,  frenzied  voices. 
The  men  spoke  rather  quietly  and  slowly,  as 
if  measuring  their  words,  and  Van  Hope  was 
smiling,  faintly.  It  wasn't  a  mirthful  smile,  but 
rather  a  wan  smile  such  as  a  man  gives  when 
some  incredible  disaster,  long  expected,  has 
fallen  upon  him.  None  of  us  liked  to  see  it. 
There  was  nothing  to  believe  but  that  the 
mystery  had  gone  home  to  him  more  fully 
than  to  any  one  else — and  we  all  wished  that 
he  could  be  spared  the  tragic,  vain  hour  of 
search  that  awaited  us.  Because  none  of  us 
had  the  least  hope,  in  our  own  hearts,  that  we 
would  ever  see  Major  Dell  again.  We  had 
got  past  the  point  where  we  could  deceive  our- 
selves. The  truth  was  all  too  self-evident.  We 
would  search  through  the  grounds,  as  a  matter 


202  KASTLE   KRAGS 

of  duty  we  would  call  and  run  back  and  forth. 
But  the  end  was  already  sure. 

Indeed,  there  was  no  look  of  surprise  on  any 
one  of  those  white  faces.  Rather  they  had  a 
helpless,  almost  fatalistic  expression,  as  men 
have  when  at  last  they  are  crushed  to  earth  by 
the  inevitable.  I  have  heard  a  detachment  of 
soldiers,  seemingly  trapped  by  death,  speak  in 
the  same  quiet  way,  and  have  seen  the  same 
baffled,  resigned  expression  on  their  faces. 

I  didn't  try  to  keep  track  of  who  was  there 
and  who  was  absent.  It  was  impossible  to  think 
of  such  things  now.  But  bitter,  blasting  fear 
surged  through  me  when  I  thought  of  Edith — 
wondering  if  she  was  safe  in  her  room. 

There  was  a  moment  of  stress,  a  sudden, 
momentary  explosion  of  suppressed  excitement, 
when  Slatterly  the  sheriff  joined  us  in  the  hall. 
We  heard  his  running  feet  in  the  corridor,  and 
we  turned  to  watch  him,  his  dressing-gown 
flopping  about  him.  Evidently  he  had  heard 
our  words  from  his  room  in  the  upper  corridor. 
Certain  exclamations  were  on  his  lips — whether 
they  were  profane  oaths  I  do  not  know. 

"What  is  it?"  he  demanded  in  an  irritable, 
rasping  voice.  "Why  are  you  all  gathered 
here?" 

Silently    we    waited    for    Nopp    to    speak — 


KASTLEKRAGS  203 

Nopp  who  had  become  the  strongest  arm  in 
the  affair.  "We're  not  having  any  late  evening 
gossip,"  he  answered.  "Kastle  Krags  has  its 
tail  up  again.  We're  here — to  find  out  what  has 
become  of  Major  Dell." 

"Major  Dell!  Good  God,  don't  tell  me  he's 
gone  too." 

Instantly  the  sudden,  deadly  surge  of  wrath 
we  had  all  felt  toward  the  sheriff  died  in  our 
breasts.  That  cry  he  made,  the  hopeless,  de- 
feated way  in  which  he  spoke,  made  him,  in  an. 
instant,  one  of  us — subject  to  the  same  fear 
and  despair,  a  crushed  and  impotent  human 
being  like  ourselves. 

"He's  gone,"  Nopp  told  him  quietly.  "He's 
not  in  his  room.  He  doesn't  seem  to  be  any 
place  else." 

"Have  you  searched?  I  don't  suppose  there's 
any  use  of  it,  but  we've  got  to  search.  Oh, 
why  didn't  I  guard  him — why  did  I  ever  take 
such  a  criminal  risk!" 

None  of  us  could  forget  his  rugged,  brown 
face  in  the  wan  electric  light.  Whether  it  was 
regret  or  fear  that  swept  it  we  didn't  know. 
It  was  ashen,  almost  expressionless,  and  his 
eyes  were  lifeless  under  his  heavy  brows.  His 
hands  hung,  fingers  slightly  apart,  at  his  side. 

"Wait    just    a    minute    before    we    begin    an 


204  KASTLE   KRAGS 

indiscriminate  search,"  Nopp  said.  "Slatterly, 
we've  got  to  face  facts.  Do  you  think — there's 
any  place  in  these  grounds  that  none  of  us 
ought  to  gof 

We  knew  what  he  meant.  He  wanted  to 
guard  against  further  loss  of  life. 

"The  thing  seems  to  run  according  to  rule," 
the  sheriff  replied,  rather  grimly.  "Just  one 
gone — every  night.  But  keep  together  when 
you're  down  near  the  lagoon." 

There  was  not  the  least  good  in  searching 
further  through  the  house.  Most  of  the  house- 
hold had  gathered  around  us,  by  now,  and  no 
one  had  seen  Major  Dell.  We  walked  the 
length  of  the  corridor  and  down  the  stairs,  and 
then  we  went  out  into  the  still  darkness.  The 
hour  was  evidently  shortly  after  midnight — the 
tide  was  almost  at  its  flood. 

Just  a  moment  more  we  stood  just  below  the 
great  veranda,  and  no  man  knew  the  other's 
thoughts.  The  moon  was  rising — we  could  see 
its  argent  gleam  through  nebulous  clouds  to  the 
East.  Far  away  the  gray  shore  stretched  to 
the  darkened  sea,  and  the  natural  rock  wall 
showed  a  faint,  gray  line.  Then  we  headed  out 
into  the  grounds. 

But  there  was  no  answer  to  the  calls  we 
made,  and  only  such  little  people  as  moles  and 


KASTLE   KRAGS  205 

gophers,  burrowers  in  the  ground,  stirred  in  the 
thickets  as  we  crushed  through.  We  hunted 
aimlessly,  more  to  satisfy  our  own  sense  of  duty 
than  through  any  expectation  of  finding  the 
missing  man.  The  moon  came  out  more  vividly, 
but  its  light  did  not  bring  success.  At  last  we 
collected,  a  silent,  rather  breathless  group,  in 
front  of  the  house. 

"What  now,  Slatterly?"  Nopp  asked.  "Is 
there  anything  more  we  can  do?" 

"Nothing  more."  His  old  confidence  was 
gone  from  his  voice.  "I  wish  I'd  done  some- 
thing long  ago,  instead  of  being  so  sure.  But 
this  thing  can't  happen  to-morrow  night." 

"Slatterly,  you're  a  brave  man  to  say  that 
anything  can't  happen  to-morrow  night.  I 
thought  you'd  learned  your  lesson " 

"I  have.  Never  fear  for  that.  To-morrow 
night  I'm  going  to  watch  beside  that  lagoon  with 
a  loaded  gun — and  I  am  going  to  see  this  thing 
through." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  sheriff  had  finished  his  investigations  by 
noon  of  the  following  day,  and  after  lunch  I 
was  free  to  work  upon  the  problem  that  I  felt 
was  the  key  to  the  whole  mystery — the  crypto- 
gram beside  Florey's  body.  Lately  I  had  been 
thinking  that  in  all  probability  to  procure  the 
script  had  been  the  direct  motive  of  the  murder; 
and  the  fact  of  its  theft  from  my  room  seemed 
to  bear  me  out. 

Why  wasn't  it  reasonable  to  presume  that  in 
the  last  instant  of  Florey's  life,  just  before  the 
attack  was  made,  he  had  attempted  to  conceal 
the  script.  He  had  thrown  it  from  him;  his 
death-cry  had  aroused  the  household  so  that  the 
murderer  had  no  time  to  seek  and  procure  it. 
Then  from  a  hiding  place,  or  even  from  among 
a  group  of  the  guests,  he  had  seen  me  pick  it  up. 

To  work  out  that  cryptogram,  to  read  its 
hidden  meaning  was  the  first  and  the  best  thing 
I  could  do  in  the  way  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
Kastle  Krags.  Written  originally  on  parchment, 
sixty  or  seventy  years  before,  it  doubtless  re- 
ferred and  was  in  explanation  of  the  secret  of 

206 


KASTLEKRAGS  207 

the  old  manor  house — the  legend  of  the  trea- 
sure, supposedly  hidden  by  Godfrey  Jason  in 
the  long  ago.  I  had  just  toyed  with  it  before. 
Perhaps  I  had  had  little  faith  that  it  was  of  any 
real  importance.  But  now,  other  avenues  had 
failed,  and  I  was  resolved  to  know  the  truth 
if  it  was  humanly  possible  to  do  so.  I  copied 
the  script  again,  with  great  care: 

aned 

dqbo 

aqcd 

trkm 

fipj 

dqbo 

seho 

ohuy 

wvyn 

dljn 

dtht 

Then  I  began  to  make  a  systematic  analysis. 
I  noticed  first  that  the  second  and  the  sixth 
words  were  identical,  indicating — considering 
the  brevity  of  the  entire  message — that  it  must 
represent  a  word  of  most  frequent  use.  Of 
course  the  articles  "a"  and  "the"  occur  most 
often  in  any  English  writing,  yet  I  found  it 
hard  to  believe  that  "dqbo"  represented  either. 
In  the  first  place,  in  a  message  of  that  length 


208  KASTLE   KRAGS 

it  is  reasonable  to  assume  that  all  articles  and 
words  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  meaning 
had  been  omitted. 

Weeks  that  seemed  years  before  Nealman 
had  told  me  that,  after  careful  study,  he  had  been 
convinced  that  there  was  some  truth  in  the 
legend  of  buried  treasure.  Was  it  not  within 
the  bounds  of  reason  to  assume  that  this  cryptic 
message  revealed  the  hiding  place  of  the  trea- 
sure? Working  on  this  assumption,  I  made  up 
an  imaginary  description  of  some  hiding  place, 
just  to  see  what  words  occurred  with  the  greatest 
frequency.  I  found  at  once  that  the  word  that 
would  be  most  likely  to  be  used  twice  in  a 
description  of  that  kind  would  be  some  measure- 
ment— either  feet,  yards,  meters,  rods,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind.  If  I  could  convince  myself 
that  "dqbo"  represented  some  English  measure- 
ment I  might  find  the  key  and  system  of  the 
code. 

Either  "feet,"  "yard"  or  "rods"  were  words 
of  four  letters — either  one  of  which  might  be 
represented  by  "dqbo."  Then  I  tested  each 
one  to  see  if  I  could  establish  a  pattern. 

I  tried  first  the  old  code-system  of  having 
each  letter  in  the  word  represent  some  other 
letter  a  certain  number  of  spaces  backward  or 
forward  in  the  alphabet.  Suppose  a  man  wanted 


KASTLE   KRAGS  209 

to  disguise  the  word  "cab."  He  might  do 
so,  very  easily,  by  spelling  it  "dbc" — using, 
instead  of  the  right  letter,  the  letter  immediately 
following  it  in  the  alphabet,  "d"  for  "c,"  "b" 
for  "a,"  etc.  Testing  for  "feet"  as  a  possible 
interpretation  of  "dqbo"  I  saw  that  uf"  was 
the  second  letter  in  the  alphabet  beyond  the 
letter  "d" — first  letter  in  the  script-word — but 
I  found  that  such  a  relation  could  not  possibly 
hold  with  "e"  and  "q"  respectively,  the  second 
letters.  "Yard"  or  "rods"  failed  the  same  test. 
Nor  by  any  juggling  of  this  simple  code,  count- 
ing so  many  spaces  backwards  or  forwards, 
could  I  make  it  come  out  true. 

Some  time  before  I  had  decided  that  it  was 
unlikely  to  the  verge  of  impossibility  that  any 
message  could  be  made  up  completely  of  four 
letter  words.  It  seemed  likely,  at  first,  that 
letters  had  been  cut  from  each  word  in  order 
to  make  them  of  four  letters.  Working  on  this 
hypothesis  I  tested  for  "meters"  but  the  word 
"dqbo"  could  not  be  made  to  conform. 

At  that  point  it  was  necessary  to  begin  on 
another  tack.  I  smoked  a  while  in  silence, 
hoping  that  some  idea,  some  little  inspiration 
that  so  often  furnished  the  key  for  such  a 
mystery  as  this,  would  come  to  me.  I  had  a 
dim  thought  that,  since  the  words  were  all  of 


210  KASTLE   KRAGS 

four  letters  and  could  not  be  made  intelligible 
by  any  shifting  of  the  alphabet,  that  perhaps 
it  had  undergone  some  double  transformation 
— changed  first  from  words  into  some  other 
symbol  form,  and  then  back  into  words.  But 
I  couldn't  seem  to  get  hold. 

If  I  could  only  see  the  key!  Possibly  it 
was  extremely  simple,  just  before  my  eyes  if 
I  could  only  grasp  it.  It  wasn't  reasonable,  I 
thought,  for  a  lone  man  to  leave  a  hidden 
message  without  giving  some  key,  however 
adroit,  for  the  reader  to  translate  it.  Jason 
hadn't  written  that  message  for  his  own  amuse- 
ment. He  had  inscribed  it  to  be  read  by 
some  one  who  came  after — perhaps  by  himself 
when  old  age  had  dulled  his  memory. 

Working  from  this  point  of  view  I  set  my- 
self to  remember  what  had  been  written  on  the 
parchment  beside  the  column  of  figures.  Per'r 
haps  the  key  had  been  there  also;  I  had  simply 
failed  to  observe  it.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
message  had  appeared  the  words  "At  F.  T." 
And  at  first  this  seemed  to  offer  the  most  in- 
teresting possibilities. 

Certainly  the  word  and  letters  had  some 
meaning.  In  the  first  place  this,  and  the  sen- 
tence above  the  script,  indicated  that  the  writer 
did  his  thinking  in  English — not  in  Spanish  or 


KASTLE   KRAGS  211 

Portuguese  or  any  other  language.  But  "F.  T." 
did  not  convey  any  meaning  to  my  mind.  I 
simply  couldn't  catch  it. 

I  tried  to  make  the  letters  "F"  and  "T"  a 
starting  point  in  the  alphabet  for  rearranging 
the  letters  in  the  column  of  words,  on  the  same 
theory  that  I  had  worked  at  first,  but  nothing 
came  of  it.  And  at  that  point  my  hopes  and 
confidence,  falling  steadily  for  the  past  hour, 
was  at  its  lowest  ebb.  I  didn't  see  but  that  I 
would  have  to  give  up  the  venture  after  all. 

My  mind  slipped  easily  to  the  message  in 
English  above  the  column — "Sworn  by  the 
Book,"  or  something  after  that  nature.  Taking 
these  words  simply  as  they  seemed,  an  oath 
on  the  part  of  the  writer  that  the  ensuing 
message  was  true,  I  hadn't  taken  the  trouble 
to  copy  them  from  the  original  parchment. 
Fortunately  I  remembered  them,  approximately 
at  least.  And  I  felt  a  little  quickening  of  hope 
as  I  contemplated  them. 

The  more  I  looked  at  them  the  more  they 
seemed  to  be  "dragged  in  by  the  heels."  I 
didn't  think  that  one  with  knowledge  of  hidden 
treasure,  conveying  its  hiding  place  to  some 
one  else,  would  have  taken  the  trouble  to  de- 
clare the  truth  of  his  statement  by  oath.  Nor 
was  such  a  pious  beginning,  on  the  part  of  that 


212  KASTLE   KRAGS 

iniquitous  murderer  and  cut-throat,  Jason,  quite 
in  character.  He  would  have  been  more  likely 
to  have  begun  with  a  sentence  of  piratical  pro- 
fanity. He  had  some  reason  for  bringing  in 
the  "Book" — and  when  I  knew  what  it  was,  I 
believed  I  would  know  the  key  to  the  crypto- 
gram. 

The  "Book"  was  the  Bible  of  course — a  name 
still  in  wide  use.  And  the  whole  volume  of  my 
blood  seemed  to  spurt  through  the  veins  when  I 
remembered  what  an  important  place  the  Bible 
had  taken  in  the  events  of  the  past  few  days ! 

Nealman  had  had  a  Bible,  wide  open,  in 
his  room.  Edith  had  been  seen  to  carry  it  to 
him  through  the  corridor — and  this  business 
with  it  had  been  of  such  a  character  that  he 
had  ordered  Edith's  silence  in  regard  to  the 
errand.  Whether  or  not  Florey  had  possessed 
a  copy  I  wasn't  able  to  remember  for  certain. 

It  must  have  been  a  grim  old  joke  to  Jason 
— to  use  the  Holy  Word  to  transmit  the  record 
of  his  iniquity!  In  an  instant  I  was  burrowing, 
not  a  little  excited,  into  the  bottom  of  my  bag 
for  a  small  copy  of  the  Bible  that  I  carried  with 
me  on  every  journey. 

Apart  from  religious  reasons,  there  is  no  bet- 
ter traveling  companion  for  a  knowledge-loving 
man  than  King  James'  Bible.  The  font  of  all 


KASTLE   KRAGS  213 

literature,  the  mighty  well  of  inspiration,  the 
record  of  the  ages — it  was  beloved  not  only  of 
the  scientist  and  historian,  but  the  literati  and 
the  esthete.  Hardly  a  week  had  passed  that  I 
hadn't  referred  to  it,  in  one  capacity  or  another. 
And  now  I  felt  that  I  was  on  the  right  track  at 
last 

There  is  no  book  in  such  common  usage,  pub- 
lished with  such  fidelity  as  to  the  position  of 
every  word,  so  easily  procured  in  any  place  or 
time,  as  the  Holy  Bible.  It  would  be  the  per- 
fect code-book.  Certainly  it  could  be  used  to 
the  greatest  advantage  as  the  key  to  a  crypto- 
gram. 

But  what  had  been  the  method  of  its  use? 
In  what  way  could  these  four-letter  words,  none 
of  which  were  intelligible,  be  made  through  the 
agency  of  the  Bible  to  present  an  intelligent 
meaning?  Again  I  found  myself  relying  on 
inductive  reasoning.  I  worked  backward,  just 
as  I  had  done  before,  trying  to  see  some  way 
to  convey  a  secret  meaning  through  the  agency 
of  this  universally  read  book. 

All  at  once  I  saw  the  way.  The  Bible 
contained  almost  every  word  in  the  present 
English  vocabulary.  In  all  probability  each 
one  of  the  words  in  the  column  represented 
some  English  word  to  be  found  somewhere  in 


214  KASTLE   KRAGS 

the  Bible,  and  the  column  of  them,  written 
out,  would  be  the  message  in  full. 

How  to  find  that  word  was  the  only  problem 
that  remained.  True,  it  looked  formidable 
enough  at  first.  Yet  I  saw  in  a  moment  that 
the  four-letter  words  could  not  represent  the 
words  of  the  message  themselves,  but  only 
their  position  in  the  Bible. 

My  mind  was  working  clearly  now,  leaping 
from  one  conclusion  to  another;  and  reasoning 
deductively  I  tried  to  work  out  some  method 
of  secret  writing  whereby  I  could  reveal  to 
another  person  the  position  of  a  certain  word  I 
wanted  him  to  know.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
that  Jason  wished  to  use  the  word  "feet"  in 
his  message.  Looking  through  the  Bible  he 
found  the  word — say  on  page  86,  third  line, 
fourth  word.  It  was  conceivable  that  he  might 
send  the  numbers  "86-3-4"  to  some  other  person; 
and  the  latter,  aware  that  the  Bible  acted  as 
the  key,  looked  up  the  place  in  the  Book  and 
learned  what  the  word  was. 

The  number  of  pages  vary,  however,  in 
Bibles  of  different  size.  It  was  natural  that 
the  location  must  be  a  constant  in  order  that 
the  recipient  of  the  note  could  always  find  it. 
So  I  began  again: 

Suppose    Jason,    looking    through    his    Bible, 


KASTLE   KRAGS  215 

found  the  word  "feet"  in  the  book  of  Genesis, 
the  first  chapter,  the  third  verse,  and  the  fourth 
word  of  the  verse.  If  he  should  send  the 
symbols  "Gen.  1,  3,  4"  to  his  friend,  the  man 
could  easily  look  up  the  place  and  see  what  he 
meant.  And  in  this  case  he  wouldn't  have  to 
have  any  certain  edition  of  the  Bible.  The 
fourth  word  of  the  third  verse  of  the  first 
chapter  of  Genesis  is  the  same  in  all  copies  of 
King  James'  Bible  over  all  the  world. 

Now  I  was  working  on  sure  ground.  I  had 
no  doubt  but  that  "dqbo"  represented  a  cer- 
tain point  in  the  Bible — the  letter  *'d"  prob- 
ably representing  the  book,  "q"  the  chapter, 
"b"  the  verse  and  "o"  the  word.  Once  more 
my  attention  was  called,  with  particular  vivid- 
ness, to  the  fact  that  all  the  words  in  the  column 
were  of  four  letters,  proving  in  my  mind  that 
this  last  contention  was  true. 

My  heart  was  racing  as  I  moved  to  the  next 
step  in  working  out  the  cryptogram.  It  was 
simply  that  of  finding  what  method  had  been 
used  to  transform  such  a  symbol  as  "Gen.  1, 
3,  4"  into  such  a  sign  as  "dqbo."  If  instead 
of  four-letter  words  I  was  working  with  se- 
quences of  numbers  such  as  "1,  1,  3,  4"  I  would 
have  felt  that  the  problem  was  solved.  "1,  1, 
3,  4"  would  have  plainly  meant  the  first  book, 


216  KASTLE   KRAGS 

the    first    chapter,    the    third    verse,    and    the 
fourth  word. 

To  transform  letters  into  numbers — that  was 
all  that  remained.  Again  I  went  back  to  "dqbo" 
and  took  the  simplest  method  of  transforma- 
tion. "D"  was  the  fourth  letter  in  the  alphabet. 
"Q"  was  the  seventeenth  letter  in  the  alphabet. 
"B"  was  the  second  letter  in  the  alphabet.  UO" 
was  the  fifteenth  letter  in  the  alphabet.  I  wrote 
down  the  numbers: 

4-17-2-15 

And  I  felt  sure  that  they  meant  the  fourth 
book,  the  seventeenth  chapter,  the  second  verse 
and  the  fifteenth  word  in  the  Holy  Bible. 

Shaken,  so  nervous  I  could  hardly  hold  my 
hands  still,  I  stopped  a  moment  to  rest.  This 
was  the  crisis.  I  was  either  at  the  verge  of 
absolute  success  or  hopeless  failure.  If  when 
I  looked  up  the  place  I  found  some  word  that 
couldn't  possibly  be  used  in  such  a  message  I 
wouldn't  have  the  spirit  to  seek  further.  And 
it  would  be  a  real  blow  to  all  my  hopes. 

I  opened  the  Bible.  The  fourth  book  proved 
to  be  "Numbers."  I  turned  to  the  seven- 
teenth chapter,  the  second  verse.  And  there 
1  read  as  follows: 


KASTLE   KRAGS  217 

Speak  unto  the  children  of  Israel  and  take 
one  of  them  a  rod  according  to  the  house  of 
their  fathers. 

The  fifteenth  word  was  rod — used  as  a  staff 
in  this  case  but  undoubtedly  used  as  a  term  of 
measurement  in  the  script. 

From  then  on  my  fingers  flew  through  the 
pages  of  the  Book.  "Aned,"  the  very  first 
word  in  the  column,  represented — finding  the 
alphabetical  position  of  each  letter — the  num- 
bers 1-14-5-4.  It  was  a  simple  matter  to  look 
up  the  first  book  of  the  Bible,  Genesis,  the 
fourteenth  chapter,  the  fifth  verse,  and  the 
fourth  word.  The  verse  in  this  case  began: 

"And  in  the  fourteenth  year  came  Chedor- 
laomer,  and  the  kings  that  were  with  him." 

The  fourth  word  of  the  verse  was  fourteenth 
— and  the  first  word  of  the  finished  script. 

It  was  easy  to  find  the  other  words.  I 
worked  them  all  out  in  fifteen  minutes.  "Aqcd," 
the  third  in  the  column,  proved  to  be  the  first, 
seventeenth,  third,  and  fourth  letters  of  the 
alphabet,  respectively,  and  1-17-3-4  meant  first 
book,  seventeenth  chapter,  third  verse,  fourth 
word,  as  plain  as  could  be.  The  word  proved 


218  KASTLE   KRAGS 

to  be  "on."     Swiftly  I  went  down  the  list.    And 
at  last  I  had  the  whole  column  translated: 

fourteen 

rod 

on 

wall 

three 

rod 

straight 

right 

fastened 

white 

rock 

Writing  it  out,  I  had: 

Fourteen  rod  on  wall  three  rod  straight  right 
fastened  white  rock. 

In  clearer  language,  it  meant  simply  and  un- 
mistakably, that  to  find  the  missing  object — 
unquestionably  Jason's  treasure — go  fourteen 
rods  out  on  the  natural  rock  wall,  turn  straight 
right  into  the  lagoon  for  three  rods,  and  there 
I  would  find  it — fastened  to  a  white  rock. 

The  thing  was  done.  I  came  to  myself  to 
find  my  fingers  toying  with  the  pencil,  and  my 
thoughts  soaring  far  away.  In  spite  of  the 
grim  record  of  death  already  made,  the  deadly 


KASTLE   KRAGS  219 

precedent  that  had  been  set,  in  spite  of  all  the 
dictates  of  ordinary  intelligence,  I  knew  what 
my  future  course  would  be.  The  lure  of  gold 
had  hold  of  me.  As  soon  as  the  opportunity 
offered,  I  was  going  to  follow  the  thing  through 
to  its  end,  and  see  with  my  own  eyes  that  which 
lay  hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  lagoon. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

JUST  before  the  dinner  hour  I  met  Slatterly 
on  the  lower  floor,  and  we  had  a  moment's  talk 
together.  "You've  been  in  on  most  everything 
that's  happened  around  here,"  he  said.  "You 
might  as  well  be  with  us  to-night.  We're 
going  to  watch  the  lagoon." 

The  truth  was  I  had  made  other  plans  for 
this  evening — plans  that  included  Edith  Neal- 
man — so  I  made  no  immediate  answer.  The 
official  noticed  my  hesitancy,  and  of  course  mis- 
understood. 

"Speak  right  up,  if  you  don't  want  to  do  it," 
he  said,  not  unkindly.  The  sheriff  was  a  man 
of  human  sympathies,  after  all.  "I  wouldn't 
hold  it  against  any  man  living  if  he  didn't  want 
to  sit  out  there  in  the  dark  watching — after 
what's  happened  the  last  three  nights.  I  don't 
know  that  I'd  do  it  myself  if  it  wasn't  in  line 
of  duty.'* 

"I  don't  think  I'd  be  afraid,"  I  told  him. 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  being  afraid.  It's 
simply  a  matter  of  human  make-up.  To  tell 

220 


KASTLE   KRAGS  221 

the  truth,  I'm  afraid  myself — and  I'm  not 
ashamed  of  it.  More  than  once  I've  had  to 
conquer  fear  in  my  work.  A  man  who  ain't 
afraid,  one  time  or  another,  hasn't  any  imagina- 
tion. Some  men  are  cold  as  ice,  I've  had 
deputies  that  were — and  they  wouldn't  mind  this 
a  bit.  I  know,  Killdare,  that  you'd  come  in 
a  pinch.  Any  man  here,  I  think — any  white 
man — would  be  down  there  with  me  to-night 
if  something  vital — some  one's  life  or  something 
— depended  on  it.  But  I  don't  want  to  take 
any  one  that  it  will  be  hard  for,  that — that 
is  any  one  to  whom  it  would  be  a  real  ordeal. 
I'm  picking  my  bunch  with  some  care. 

"Who   is   going?" 

"Weldon,  Nopp,  you  and  myself — if  you 
want  to  come.  If  not,  don't  mind  saying  so." 

"I  want  to  come!"  We  smiled  at  each  other, 
in  the  hall.  After  all,  no  other  decision  could 
be  made.  The  high  plans  I  had  made  for  an 
evening  with  Edith  would  have  to  be  given  over. 
In  the  first  place  the  night  might  solve  the 
mystery  into  which  I  had  been  drawn.  In  the 
second  it  was  the  kind  of  offer  that  most  men, 
over  the  earth,  find  it  impossible  to  refuse.  Hu- 
man beings,  as  a  whole,  are  not  particularly  brave. 
They  are  still  too  close  to  the  caves  and  the 
witch-doctors  of  the  young  world.  They  are 


222  KASTLE   KRAGS 

inordinately,  incredibly  shy,  also,  and  like 
little  children,  sometimes,  in  their  dreads  and 
superstitions.  Yet  through  some  blessing  they 
have  a  high-born  capacity  to  conquer  the  fear 
that  emburdens  them. 

No  white  man  in  the  manor  house  would 
have  refused  Slatterly's  offer.  Mostly,  when 
men  see  that  they  are  up  against  a  certain  hard 
deal,  some  proposition  that  stirs  the  deep-buried, 
inherent  instinct  that  is  nothing  more  or  less 
than  a  sense  of  duty — that  deep-lying  sense  of 
obligation  that  makes  the  whole  world  beauti- 
ful and  justifiable — they  simply  stand  up  and 
face  it.  No  normal  young  man  likes  war.  Yet 
they  all  go.  And  of  course  this  work  to-night 
promised  excitement — and  the  love  of  excite- 
ment is  a  siren  that  has  drawn  many  a  good 
man  to  his  doom. 

"Good,"  the  sheriff  told  me  simply,  not  in 
the  least  surprised.  "What  kind  of  a  gun 
can  you  scare  up?" 

"I  can  get  a  gun,  all  right.  I've  got  a  pistol 
of  my  own." 

Nopp  came  up  then,  and  he  and  the  sheriff 
exchanged  significant  glances.  And  the  northern 
man  suddenly  turned  to  me,  about  to  speak. 

Until  that  instant  I  hadn't  observed  the  record 
that  the  events  of  the  past  three  nights  had 


KASTLE   KRAGS  223 

written  in  his  face.  Nopp  had  nerves  of  steel; 
but  the  house  and  its  mystery  had  got  to 
him,  just  the  same.  The  sunset  rays  slanted 
in  over  the  veranda,  poured  through  the  big 
windows,  and  showed  his  face  in  startling  de- 
tail. The  inroads  that  had  been  made  upon 
it  struck  me  with  a  sudden  sense  of  shock. 

The  man  looked  older.  The  lines  of  his 
face  seemed  more  deeply  graven,  the  flesh- 
sacks  were  swollen  under  his  eyes,  he  was  some 
way  shaken  and  haggard.  Yet  you  didn't  get 
the  idea  of  impotence.  The  hands  at  his  side 
had  a  man's  grasp  in  them.  Nopp  was  still 
able  to  handle  most  of  the  problems  that  con- 
fronted him. 

Slatterly,  too,  had  not  escaped  unscathed. 
The  danger  and  his  own  failure  to  solve  the 
mystery  had  killed  some  of  the  man's  con- 
ceit, and  he  was  more  tolerant  and  sympathetic. 
There  was  a  peculiar,  excited  sparkle  in  his 
eyes,  too. 

Slatterly  turned  to  Nopp.  "He  says  he's 
got  a  pistol." 

The  second  that  ensued  had  an  unmistakable 
quality  of  drama.  Nopp  turned  to  me,  exhaling 
heavily.  "Killdare,  we've  beat  the  devil  around 
the  stump  all  along — and  it's  time  to  stop,"  he 
said.  "I  don't  like  to  talk  like  a  crazy  man,  but 


224  KASTLE   KRAGS 

we've  got  to  look  this  infernal  matter  in  the  face. 
When  you  come  out  to-night  come  armed  with  the 
biggest  gun  you  can  find — a  high-powered  rifle." 

No  man  argued  with  another,  at  a  time  like 
this.  "I  don't  know  where  I  can  get  a  rifle," 
I  told  him. 

"Every  man  in  the  house  has  got  some  kind 
or  another.  I'm  going  to  be  frank  and  tell 
you  what  I'm  carrying — a  big  .405,  the  biggest 
quick-shooting  arm  I  could  get  hold  of.  What- 
ever comes  to-night — we've  got  to  stop." 

We  gathered  again  at  the  big  mahogany 
table,  dined  quietly,  and  the  four  of  us  excused 
ourselves  just  before  dessert.  The  twilight 
was  already  falling — like  gray  shadows  of 
wings  over  land  and  sea — and  we  wanted  to  be 
at  our  post.  We  didn't  desire  that  the  peril 
of  the  lagoon  should  strike  in  our  absence. 
And  we  left  a  more  hopeful  spirit  among  the 
other  occupants  of  the  manor  house. 

They  were  all  glad  that  armed  men  would 
guard  the  lagoon  shore  that  night.  I  suppose  it 
gave  them  some  sense  of  security  otherwise  not 
known.  The  four  of  us  procured  our  rifles, 
and  walked,  a  grim  company,  down  to  the 
shore  of  the  lagoon. 

"We  want  to  guard  as  much  of  the  shore 
line  as  we  can,  and  still  keep  each  other  in 


KASTLE   KRAGS  225 

sight,"  Slatterly  said.  "And  there's  no  getting 
away  from  it  that  we  want  to  be  in  easy  rifle 
range  of  each  other." 

He  posted  us  at  fifty-yard  intervals  along 
the  craggy  margin.  I  was  placed  near  the  ap- 
proach of  the  rock  wall,  overlooking  a  wide 
stretch  of  the  shore,  Weldon's  post  was  fifty 
yards  above  mine,  the  sheriff's  next,  and  Nopp's 
most  distant  of  all.  Then  we  were  left  to 
watch  the  tides  and  the  night  and  the  stars 
probing  through  the  darkening  mantle  of  the 
sky. 

We  had  no  definite  orders.  We  were  simply 
to  watch,  to  fire  at  will  in  case  of  an  emergency, 
to  guard  the  occupants  of  the  manor  house 
against  any  danger  that  might  emerge  from  the 
depths  of  the  lagoon.  The  tide,  at  the  lowest 
ebb  at  the  hour  of  our  arrival,  began  soon  to 
flow  again.  The  glassy  surface  was  fretted  by 
the  beat  and  crash  of  oncoming  waves  against 
the  rocky  barrier.  We  saw  the  little  rivulets 
splash  through;  the  water's  edge  crept  slowly 
up  the  craggy  shore.  The  dusk  deepened,  and 
soon  it  was  deep  night. 

We  were  none  too  close  together.  I  could 
barely  make  out  the  tall  figure  of  Weldon, 
standing  statuesque  on  a  great,  gray  crag  beside 
the  lagoon.  His  figure  was  so  dim  that  it  was 


226  KASTLE   KRAGS 

hard  to  believe  in  its  reality,  the  gun  at  his 
shoulder  was  but  a  fine  penciled  line,  and  with 
the  growing  darkness,  it  was  hard  to  make  him 
out  at  all.  Soon  it  took  a  certain  measure  of 
imagination  to  conceive  of  that  darker  spot  in 
the  mist  of  darkness  as  the  form  of  a  fellow 
man. 

The  sense  of  isolation  increased.  We  heard 
no  sound  from  each  other,  but  the  night  itself 
was  full  of  little,  hushed  noises.  From  my 
camp  fire  beside  Manatee  Marsh  I  had  often 
heard  the  same  sounds,  but  they  were  more  com- 
pelling now,  they  held  the  attention  with  un- 
swerving constancy,  and  they  seemed  to  pene- 
trate further  into  the  spirit.  Also  I  found 
it  harder  to  identify  them — at  least  to  believe 
steadfastly  the  identifications  that  I  made. 

We  hadn't  heard  a  beginning  of  the  sounds 
when  we  had  listened  from  the  verandas.  They 
had  been  muffled  there,  dim  and  hushed,  but 
here  they  seemed  to  speak  just  in  your  ear. 
Sea-birds  called  and  shrieked,  owls  uttered 
their  mournful  complaints,  brush  cracked  and 
rustled  as  little,  eager-eyed  furry  things  crept 
through.  Once  I  started  and  the  gun  leaped 
upward  in  my  arms  as  some  great  sea-fish, 
likely  a  tarpon,  leaped  and  splashed  just  beyond 
the  rock  wall. 


KASTLE    KRAGS  227 

"What  is  it,  Killdare?"  Weldon  called.  His 
voice  was  sharp  and  urgent. 

"Some  fish  jumped,  that  was  all,"  I  an- 
swered. And  again  the  silence  dropped  down. 

The  tide-waves  burst  with  ever-increasing 
fury.  The  stars  were  ever  brighter,  and  their 
companies  ever  larger,  in  the  deep,  violet 
spaces  of  the  sky.  The  hours  passed.  The 
lights  in  the  great  colonial  house  behind  us 
winked  out,  one  by  one. 

There  was  no  consolation  in  glancing  at  my 
watch.  It  served  to  make  the  time  pass  more 
slowly.  The  hour  drew  to  midnight,  after  a 
hundred  years  or  so  of  waiting;  the  night  had 
passed  its  apex  and  had  begun  its  swift  descent 
to  dawn.  And  all  at  once  the  thickets  rustled 
and  stirred  behind  me. 

No  man  can  be  blamed  for  whipping  about, 
startled  in  the  last,  little  nerve,  in  such  a  mo- 
ment as  this.  Some  one  was  hastening  down 
to  the  shore  of  the  lagoon — some  one  that 
walked  lightly,  yet  with  eagerness.  I  could  even 
hear  the  long,  wet  grass  lashing  against  her 
ankles. 

"Who  is  it?"  I  asked  quietly. 

"Edith,"  some  one  answered  from  the  gloom. 

Many  important  things  in  life  are  forgotten, 
and  small  ones  kept;  and  my  memory  will  har- 


228  KASTLE   KRAGS 

bor  always  the  sound  of  that  girlish  voice,  so 
clear  and  full  in  the  darkness.  Though  she 
spoke  softly  her  whole  self  was  reflected  in 
the  tone.  It  was  sweet,  tender,  perhaps  even 
a  little  startled  and  fearful.  In  a  moment  she 
was  at  my  side. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  alone?" 
I  demanded. 

"The  phone  rang — in  the  upper  corridor," 
she  told  me  almost  breathlessly.  "The  negroes 
were  afraid  to  answer  it.  I  went — and  it 
was  a  telegram  for  you.  I  thought  I'd  better 
bring  it — it  was  only  two  hundred  yards,  and 
four  men  here.  You're  not  angry,  are  you?" 

No  man  could  be  angry  at  such  a  time;  and 
she  handed  me  a  written  copy  of  the  message 
she  had  received  over  the  wire.  I  scratched  a 
match,  saw  her  pretty,  sober  face  in  its  light 
and  read: 

Am  sending  picture  of  George  Florey,  brother 
of  murdered  man.  Watch  him  closely.  Am 
writing. 

It  wasn't  an  urgent  message.  The  picture 
would  have  reached  me,  just  the  same,  and  I 
had  every  intention  of  watching  closely  the  man 
I  believed  was  the  dead  butler's  brother.  Yet 


KASTLE   KRAGS  229 

I  was  glad  enough  she  had  seen  fit  to  bring  it 
to  me.  We  would  have  our  moment  together, 
after  all. 

What  was  said  beside  that  craggy,  mysterious 
margin,  what  words  were  all  but  obscured  by 
the  sounc3  of  the  tide-waves  breaking  against 
the  natural  wall  of  rock,  what  oaths  were  given, 
and  what  breathless,  incredible  happiness  came 
upon  us  as  if  from  the  far  stars,  has  little  part 
in  the  working  out  of  the  mystery  of  Kastle 
Krags.  Certain  moments  passed,  indescribably 
fleet,  and  certain  age-old  miracles  were  re- 
enacted.  Life  doesn't  yield  many  such  moments. 
But  then — not  many  are  needed  to  pay  for  life. 

After  a  while  we  told  each  other  good-night, 
and  I  scratched  a  match  to  look  again  into  her 
face.  Some  way,  I  had  expected  the  miraculous 
softening  of  every  tender  line  and  the  unspeak- 
able luster  in  her  blue  eyes  that  the  flaring 
light  revealed.  They  were  merely  part  of  the 
night  and  its  magic,  and  the  joy  I  had  in  the 
sight  was  incomparable  with  any  other  earthly 
thing.  But  what  surprised  me  was  a  curious 
look  of  intentness  and  determination,  almost  a 
zealot's  enthusiasm  in  her  face,  that  the  match- 
light  showed  and  the  darkness  concealed  again. 

She  went  away,  as  quietly  as  she  had  come. 
Whether  Weldon  had  seen  her  I  did  not  know. 


230  KASTLE   KRAGS 

There  was  something  else  I  didn't  know,  either, 
and  the  thought  of  it  was  a  delight  through  all 
the  long  hours  of  my  watch.  Edith  Nealman 
had  worlds  of  common  sense.  I  wondered  how 
she  had  been  able  to  convince  herself  that  the 
message  was  of  such  importance  that  she  needs 
must  carry  it  through  the  darkness  of  the 
gardens  to  me  at  once. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  tide  reached  its  full,  shortly  after  two 
o'clock,  and  then  began  to  ebb.  Almost  at 
once  the  little  waves  of  the  lagoon  smoothed 
out,  they  lapped  no  more  against  the  craggy 
margin,  and  the  water  lay  like  a  sheet  of  gray 
glass.  I  had  seen  the  same  transformation  on 
several  previous  occasions,  but  to-night  it  seemed 
to  get  hold  of  me  as  never  before. 

Seemingly  it  partook  of  a  miraculous  quality 
to-night — as  if  winds  had  been  suddenly  stilled 
by  a  magician's  art.  The  water  was  of  course 
flowing  out  between  the  crevices  of  the  rock 
wall,  yet  there  was  no  sense  of  motion.  The 
water-line  dropped  slowly  down. 

It  is  an  unescapable  fact  that  the  whole 
atmosphere  of  the  Ochakee  country  is  one  of 
death.  The  moss-draped  forests  seem  without 
life,  the  rivers  convey  no  sense  of  motion,  the 
air  is  dead,  and  vegetation  rots  underfoot.  To- 
night the  lagoon  was  without  any  image  or  in- 
dication of  life.  The  whole  vista  seemed  like 
some  dead,  forgotten  wasteland  in  a  dream — 

231 


232  KASTLE   KRAGS 

a  place  where  living  things  had  never  come  and 
was  forever  incompatible  with  life. 

It  was  a  mysterious  hour.  The  half-crescent 
moon  rose  at  last,  at  first  a  silver  tinting  of 
the  skyline,  a  steadily  growing  wave  of  light 
and  then  the  sharply  outlined  moon  itself  above 
the  eastern  forest.  The  dark  shadows  that 
were  my  companions  took  form,  strengthened; 
again  I  could  see  their  erect  figures  on  the  gray 
crags  and  the  gleam  of  their  rifles  in  their 
arms.  The  perspective  widened,  the  rock  wall 
seemed  to  extend,  stretch  ever  further  across 
the  lagoon,  and  now  the  sky  was  graying  in  the 
East. 

A  moment  later  I  heard  Weldon's  voice, 
ringing  full  in  the  hush  of  the  dying  night,  as 
he  spoke  Slatterly's  name.  The  latter  answered 
at  once. 

"Yes.    What  is  it?" 

"Let's  go  in.  The  night's  over  and  nothing's 
happened.  It's  pretty  near  bright  day  already." 

It  was  true  that  the  eastern  sky  had  begun  to 
be  tinged  with  gray.  I  could  see  the  lines  of  my 
hands  and  the  finer  mechanisms  of  the  rifle. 
The  hour,  however,  seemed  later  than  it  really 
was,  simply  because  of  the  effulgence  of  the 
moon.  The  dread  atmosphere  of  Kastle  Krags 
had  in  a  moment  been  wholly  destroyed.  In- 


KASTLE   KRAGS  233 

stead  of  a  place  of  mystery  and  peril,  it  was 
simply  an  old-time  manor-house  fronting  the 
sea,  built  between  the  forest  and  a  calm  lagoon. 

There  didn't  seem  any  use  of  watching  fur- 
ther. If  the  night  was  not  yet,  in  fact,  com- 
pletely over,  the  moon  and  the  graying  east  gave 
th,e  effect  of  morning.  Perhaps  the  fact  that 
the  outgoing  tide  had  stilled  the  lagoon  had  its 
effect  too.  The  ominous  sound  of  breaking  waves 
was  gone,  and  it  gave  a  perfect  image  of  qui- 
etude and  peace. 

Slatterly  waited  an  instant  before  he  answered. 
"Wait  a  little  more,"  he  said  in  a  resigned  tone. 
"But  you're  right — it's  almost  morning." 

I  don't  think  it  was  five  minutes  later  that  I 
saw  Weldon  leave  his  post  and  saunter  over  to 
the  sheriff's  side.  I  suppose,  bored  with  his  task, 
the  time  seemed  much  longer  to  him.  True,  the 
lagoon  was  gray,  the  shadows  of  the  garden 
had  lost  their  mystery,  and  there  didn't  seem 
any  use  of  waiting.  Indeed,  I  don't  think  any 
of  us  escaped  a  sense  of  inner  embarrassment — 
something  akin  to  ignominy  and  chagrin — that 
we  should  be  standing  beside  that  quiet  water- 
body,  with  high-powered  rifles  in  our  hands.  It 
made  us  feel  secretly  ridiculous. 

Nopp  called  over,  cheerily,  "Through  for  the 
night?" 


234  KASTLEKRAGS 

"Might  as  well,"  Slatterly  answered.  "It  was 
a  fool  party  anyway." 

Very  glad  that  the  watch  was  over,  I  left  my 
own  post,  and  we  had  a  cigarette  apiece  beside 
the  still  lagoon.  Then  we  went  through  the 
gardens  to  the  house. 

"We've  disrupted  the  regular  schedule,  any- 
way," Nopp  said.  "I  think  we've  come  to  the 
end  of  our  trouble,  and  nothing  more  to  fear. 
Man,  do  you  think  to-day  will  clear  the  thing 
up?" 

"What  chance  is  there  to  clear  up  such  a  mess 
in  one  day?"  The  sheriff  spoke  moodily. 

"Because  you're  going  to  have  some  real  help 
— not  a  lot  of  bungling  amateurs.  You  know 
who's  coming?" 

"Lacone — Van  Hope's  detective." 

"Yes.  He's  a  distinguished  man — a  real  sci- 
entist in  the  study  of  crime.  He  may  do  won- 
ders, even  in  one  day." 

"I  only  hope  he  does !  I  don't  care  who  clears 
it  up — as  long  as  it's  cleared.  Now  to  get  a 
little  sleep." 

Tired  out,  we  went  to  our  rooms.  The  cool 
of  early  morning  had  swept  through  the  halls, 
and  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn  was  at  the  win- 
dows. How  white  the  moon  was  in  the  sky,  how 
mysteriously  gray  the  whole  sweep  of  shore  and 


KASTLEKRAGS  235 

sea !  So  tired  I  dreaded  the  work  of  undressing, 
I  sat  down  a  moment  before  the  window  that 
overlooked  the  lagoon. 

The  moonlight  and  the  dawn  gave  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  mist,  a  gray  mist  as  is  sometimes 
seen  over  water  when  the  sky  is  overcast  with 
heavy  clouds.  At  that  moment  it  was  impossible 
to  conceive  of  anything  but  grayness.  The  whole 
conception  that  the  brain  had,  the  only  inter- 
pretation that  the  senses  made  was  of  this  same, 
lifeless  hue.  If  an  artist  had  tried  to  paint  the 
picture  that  was  spread  before  my  window  he 
would  have  needed  but  one  tube  of  paint. 

It  was  in  some  way  vaguely  startling.  It  went 
home  to  some  dark  knowledge  within  a  man,  and 
left  him  fearful  and  expectant.  The  shore  and 
the  sea  were  gray,  the  gardens  were  swept  with 
grayness,  the  lagoon  itself  had  lost  its  many 
colors  and  only  the  same  neutral  tint  remained. 
The  only  way  that  the  eye  could  distinguish  shore 
from  sea,  and  garden  from  shore,  was  the  grada- 
tions of  the  same  hue. 

Surely  dawn  was  almost  at  hand.  The  moon 
looked  less  vivid  in  the  sky.  And  nothing  re- 
mained but  to  find  what  sleep  I  could. 

But  at  that  instant  my  senses  quickened.  I 
could  hardly  call  it  a  start — it  was  just  a  sudden 
wakening  of  mind  and  body.  I  wasn't  the  least 


236  KASTLEKRAGS 

sure.  .  .  .  Perhaps  in  a  moment  the  old 
lull,  the  well-remembered  sense  of  well-being  and 
security  would  return.  It  had  seemed  to  me 
that  a  swift  shadow  glided  through  the  grayness 
at  the  shore  of  the  lagoon. 

The  window  afforded  a  remarkably  wide 
glimpse  of  that  particular  part  of  the  estate. 
The  rift  in  the  trees  permitted  a  view  of  scat- 
tered segments  of  the  rock  wall  itself.  And  it 
wasn't  to  be  that  I  could  turn  and  leave  them 
to  the  gray  of  morning.  In  that  mysterious, 
eerie  light  I  saw  the  whisking  shadow  again. 

It  was  not  merely  some  little  creeping  thing 
from  the  forest — some  living  creature  such  as 
stirs  about  at  the  first  ray  of  dawn.  The  shadow 
was  much  too  large.  I  would  have  thought,  at 
the  first  glance,  that  it  was  the  shadow  of  a  man. 
But  at  that  instant  the  figure  emerged  into  the 
open,  and  I  knew  the  truth. 

The  trim  form  on  the  shore  of  the  lagoon  was 
that  of  Edith  Nealman.  I  could  see  her  outline 
with  entire  plainness,  dark  against  the  gray. 
Some  errand  of  stealth  had  taken  her  down  to 
the  shore  of  the  lagoon  the  moment  that  it  was 
left  unguarded. 

In  an  instant  she  disappeared,  and  in  the  in- 
terval I  found  out  how  deeply  and  inexplicably 
startled  I  was.  And  then  I  saw  her  again,  walk- 


KASTLEKRAGS  237 

ing  out  on  the  natural  rock  bridge,  and  carrying 
some  heavy  object,  that  dragged  on  the  rocks, 
in  her  arms. 

I  could  see  her  stooped  figure,  and  the  shadow 
of  the  thing  that  dragged.  And  there  is  no 
telling  under  Heaven  the  thoughts  and  the  ter- 
rors that  swept  through  me  as  to  what  that 
dragging  thing  might  be. 

But  in  an  instant  I  saw  what  it  was.  It  was 
a  rather  long,  heavy  plank,  certainly  of  wood. 
She  was  about  two  hundred  feet  out  on  the  rock 
wall  by  now,  and  I  saw  that  she  was  launching 
the  plank  to  the  right  of  the  wall,  in  the  water 
of  the  lagoon.  Before  I  could  wonder  or  exclaim 
she  herself  had  slipped  in  with  it,  her  arms  pale 
white  from  the  shoulders  of  her  dark  bathing 
suit,  wading  out  and  guiding  the  heavy  plank 
beside  her. 

No  man  who  had  read  that  mysterious  script 
could  doubt  what  her  purpose  was.  She  had 
gone  fourteen  rods  out  on  the  wall,  and  then  she 
had  turned  to  the  right  into  the  lagoon.  Plain- 
ly she  was  searching  for  Jason's  treasure. 

She,  too,  knew  the  key.  In  that  same  flash 
of  time,  I  understood  the  look  of  intent  I  had 
seen  on  her  face  earlier  that  night.  She  had 
kept  her  resolve — even  now  she  was  herself  try- 
ing to  sound  the  mystery  of  her  uncle's  disap- 


238  KASTLE    KRAGS 

pearance.  I  understood  her  own  exultation  when 
I  had  talked  of  my  many  scientific  plans,  and 
how  I  lacked  means  to  carry  them  out.  Even 
then  she  had  likely  been  working  on  the  crypto- 
gram. It  was  wholly  possible  that  either  Neal- 
man  or  herself  had  encountered  a  copy  of  the 
script  in  the  old  house,  and  they  had  worked  on 
it  together. 

But  there  had  been  some  sort  of  a  guard  put 
over  Jason's  treasure !  With  what  right  had 
we  been  so  smugly  certain  that  the  old  legend 
was  not  true — that  there  was  not  still  some  evil, 
tentacled  monster  of  the  deep  left  to  slay  and 
drag  to  his  cavern  those  that  dared  to  penetrate 
the  lagoon.  Even  now  she  was  wading  further 
and  further  from  the  rock  wall.  I  could  see 
just  her  head  and  the  top  of  her  shoulders 
above  water,  the  heavy  plank  still  guided  beside 
her. 

Fear  is  an  emotion  that  speeds  like  lightning 
through  the  avenues  of  the  nerves.  In  the  in- 
stant that  these  thoughts  went  home — thoughts 
that  would  have  taken  moments  to  narrate  in 
speech  but  which  whipped  through  the  mind  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye — I  plumbed  the  utter 
depths  of  fear.  There  can  be  no  other  word; 
The  gray  expanse  seemed  the  waters  of  death 
itself;  the  whole  scene,  in  the  gray  of  dawn,  was 


KASTLE    KRAGS  239 

eerie,  savage,  unutterably  dreadful.  And  the 
girl  that  had  come  to  be  my  own  life  was  even 
now  wholly  within  the  power  of  any  monstrous 
foe  that  should  leave  its  cavern  to  attack  her. 

Why  had  we  been  so  sure !  Why  hadn't  we 
guarded  those  deadly  waters  every  hour,  day  and 
night.  Every  day  teaches  that  many  things  that 
seemed  incredible  a  day  ago  are  true:  how  had 
we  dared  to  be  so  arrogant  in  regard  to  the  leg- 
end of  the  lagoon.  Even  when  three  men,  one 
after  another,  had  disappeared  without  trace  we 
had  refused  to  change  our  ancient  habits  of 
thought :  we  had  still  refused  to  believe.  I  knew 
now  the  fate  of  the  missing  men.  They  had 
gone  in  search  of  Jason's  chest — and  the  treasure 
guard  that  dwelt  in  the  lagoon  had  put  them  to 
death.  And  just  before  my  eyes  the  girl  I  loved 
was  following  the  path  they  made,  making  the 
same  quest. 

And  in  that  breathless,  never-to-be-forgotten 
moment,  I  heard  a  resounding  splash  of  water. 
Against  the  craggy,  opposite  shore  the  water 
flew  far  and  white  as  some  living  thing  that  had 
been  concealed  in  the  far  crags  dived  toward  her 
through  the  still  waters  of  the  lagoon. 

The  whole  scene  had  seemingly  occupied  less 
than  a  second.  Already,  before  I  could  breathe, 
I  was  leaping  down  the  corridor  towards  the 


240  KASTLE   KRAGS 

stairs.  I  called  once  for  help — a  door  behind 
me  opened.  Then  I  was  out  in  the  gray  dawn, 
racing  toward  the  lagoon. 

There  seemed  no  interlude  of  time  between 
the  instant  that  I  saw  that  splashing  water  and 
that  in  which  I  had  plunged  full  into  the  gray 
depths  myself.  In  reality  there  was  a  space  of 
several  seconds — the  gray  light  showed  me  that 
the  drama  of  the  lagoon  had  progressed  immea- 
surably further.  The  girl  was  fifty  or  sixty  feet 
from  the  rock  wall  now,  just  her  head  showing 
above  water,  her  arms  locked  tight  about  the 
plank  and  facing  her  approaching  foe.  And 
something  that  swam  swiftly  made  streaming 
ripples  toward  her. 

I  swam  with  amazing  ease  and  swiftness. 
The  terror,  innate  love  of  life,  were  all  forgotten 
in  the  hope  that  I  might  reach  Edith's  side  in 
time.  And  now,  by  the  gray  light  of  dawn,  I  saw 
that  her  foe  was  upon  her. 

They  were  struggling  with  a  desperate  frenzy, 
and  for  an  instant  the  splashing  water  almost 
obscured  them.  The  plank  had  been  torn  from 
her  grasp,  and  by  some  circumstance  had  been 
sped  hopelessly  out  of  her  reach.  And  now, 
the  water  clearing  from  my  eyes,  I  could  deter- 
mine the  identity  of  her  assailant.  No  matter 
what  further  fate  the  lagoon  had  in  store  for 


KASTLE   KRAGS  241 

her,  this  foe  was  human,  at  least.  Terrible  and 
drawn  with  passion  as  it  was,  I  saw  the  face  of 
Major  Kenneth  Dell,  the  man  who  had  disap- 
peared the  preceding  night. 

I  yelled,  trying  to  give  hope.  Already  I  was 
almost  upon  them;  and  Dell  had  released  his 
hold  of  the  girl.  Whatever  had  been  his  pur- 
pose it  had  been  forgotten  in  the  face  of  some 
greater  extremity.  Their  fight  was  no  more  with 
each  other:  rather  they  seemed  at  death  grips 
with  some  resistless  foe  that  tore  at  them  from 
beneath  the  waves. 

I  saw  Dell's  face.  An  unspeakable  terror, 
that  of  one  who  in  wickedness  goes  down  to  an 
awful  death,  was  on  his  face.  It  was  such  a 
terror  as  men  can  know  but  once,  for  they  never 
live  to  tell  of  it,  and  which  blasts  the  heart  of 
any  one  that  beholds  it.  No  artist,  delving  into 
the  abnormal,  could  have  portrayed  that  fear. 
It  was  a  thing  never  to  forget,  but  ever  to  see 
again  in  dreams. 

Edith  was  terrified  too,  but  such  a  terror  as 
Dell  knew  was  impossible  for  her.  The  fear  of 
death  that  curses  a  godless  man  is  perhaps  the 
most  dreadful  retributive  force  in  this  world  or 
the  next,  and  Dell  knew  it  to  the  full.  No  one 
who  had  seen  his  face  could  doubt  but  that  all 
the  iniquity  of  a  long  life  had  been  atoned  for, 


242  KASTLE    KRAGS 

in  one  little  moment,  in  the  scales  of  justice. 
But  only  a  measure  of  it  could  oppress  her.  The 
only  fear  that  her  fine  young  soul  could  know 
was  that  born  of  the  elemental  love  of  life.  And 
with  what  seemed  to  be  a  final  effort  she  raised 
her  head  to  call  a  warning  to  me. 

But  even  if  I  had  heeded  it,  it  would  have 
come  too  late.  I  saw  the  heads  of  the  man  and 
woman  in  front  of  me  go  down  as  if  drawn  by 
quicksand.  And  there  was  no  escape  for  me. 
The  death  that  dwelt  in  the  lagoon  had  already 
seized  me  in  its  resistless  grasp. 

But  the  guard  over  Jason's  treasure  was  not 
merely  some  monster  implanted  from  the  sea,  a 
mortal  thing  that  years  could  claim  or  muscular 
strength  oppose.  Rather  it  was  a  power  that 
had  dwelt  there  since  the  world's  young  days, 
ever  claiming  tribute,  and  which  would  continue 
on  until  the  very  sea  itself  was  changed.  The 
demon  that  had  hold  of  me  was  merely  that  of 
rushing  waters.  They  swept  me  forward  and 
sucked  me  down  with  remorseless  force. 

There  was  a  sink-hole  in  the  floor  of  the 
lagoon.  No  wonder  the  water  that  rushed 
in  at  high-tide  had  seemed  to  go  so  quietly  away. 
I  was  being  carried  down  a  subterranean  outlet, 
through  some  water  passage  under  the  rock  wall, 
and  into  the  open  sea. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE  water  surrounding  the  underground  out- 
let was  not  of  great  depth — an  inch  or  so  over 
five  feet — but  the  suction  of  the  sink-hole  was 
irresistible.  Once  caught  in  those  sinking  wa- 
ters meant  to  go  down  with  them;  and  a  moth 
would  have  struggled  to  equal  advantage.  If 
fate  had  given  me  the  choice  of  fighting  to  save 
myself  it  would  not  have  changed  the  outcome 
in  the  least.  The  plank  had  floated  too  far 
away  to  seize.  The  water  was  deep  enough  that 
if,  by  a  mighty  wrench  of  muscles,  I  was  able  to 
seize  with  my  hands  some  immovable  rock  on, 
the  lagoon  floor  my  head  would  have  been  under 
water. 

Fate,  however,  didn't  give  me  that  fighting 
choice.  Edith  Nealman  had  already  gone  down, 
a  single  instant  before.  Loss  of  life  itself 
couldn't  possibly  mean  more.  There  was  noth- 
ing open  but  to  follow  through. 

But  while  the  trap  itself  was  infallible,  irre- 
sistible to  human  strength,  there  might  be  fighting 
aplenty  in  the  darkness  of  the  channel  and  be- 

243 


244  KASTLE   KRAGS 

yond.  The  time  hadn't  come  to  give  up.  The 
slightest  fighting  chance  was  worth  every  ounce 
of  mortal  strength.  And  as  the  waters  seized 
me  I  gave  the  most  powerful  swimming  stroke  I 
knew,  a  single,  mighty  wrench  of  the  whole  mus- 
cular system,  in  an  attempt  to  get  my  lips  above 
water  for  a  last  breath. 

Partly  because  I  have  always  been  a  strong 
swimmer,  but  mostly  by  good  fortune,  I  won  that 
instant's  reprieve.  I  had  already  exhaled;  and 
in  the  instant  that  my  lips  were  above  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  lagoon  I  filled  my  lungs  to  their 
utmost  capacity,  breathing  sharp  and  deep,  with 
the  cool,  sweet,  morning  air.  The  force  of  my 
leap  carried  me  over  and  down,  the  descending 
waters  seized  me  as  the  sluice  in  a  sink  might 
seize  an  insect,  and  slowly,  steadily,  as  if  by  a 
giant's  hand,  drew  me  into  darkness. 

I  had  been  drawn  into  the  subterranean  outlet 
of  the  lagoon,  the  passageway  of  the  waters  of 
the  outgoing  tide.  Life  itself  depended  on  how 
long  that  under-water  channel  was.  I  only  knew 
that  I  was  headed  under  the  rock  wall  and 
toward  the  open  sea. 

At  such  times  the  mental  mechanics  function 
abnormally,  if  at  all.  I  was  not  drowning  yet. 
The  thousand  thoughts  and  memories  and  regrets 
that  haunt  the  last  moments  of  the  lost  did  not 


KASTLEKRAGS  245 

come  to  me.  The  whole  consciousness  was  fo- 
cussed  on  two  points:  one  of  them  a  resolve  to 
do  what  I  could  for  Edith,  and  the  other  was 
fear. 

Besides  the  seeming  certainty  of  death,  it  was 
unutterably  terrible  to  be  swept  through  this 
dark,  mysterious  channel  under  the  sea.  Per- 
haps the  teror  lay  most  in  the  darkness  of  the 
passage.  It  was  a  darkness  simply  inconceivable, 
beyond  any  that  the  imagination  could  conjure 
up — such  absolute  absence  of  light  as  shadow 
the  unfathomable  caverns  on  the  ocean  floor  or 
fill  the  great,  empty  spaces  between  one  constel- 
lation and  another.  In  the  darkest  night  there 
is  always  some  fine,  almost  imperceptible  degree 
of  light.  Here  light  was  a  thing  forgotten  and 
undreamed  of. 

The  waters  did  not  move  with  particular 
swiftness.  They  flowed  rather  easily  and  quietly, 
like  the  contents  of  a  great  aqueduct.  Perhaps 
it  would  have  been  better  for  the  human  spirit 
if  they  had  moved  with  a  rush  and  a  roar,  blunt- 
ing the  consciousness  with  their  tumult,  and 
hurling  their  victim  to  an  instantaneous  death. 
The  death  in  that  undersea  channel  was  deliberate 
and  unhurried,  and  the  imagination  had  free 
play.  Already  we  three  were  like  departed  souls, 
lost  in  the  still,  murky  waters  of  Lethe — drift- 


246  KASTLE   KRAGS 

ing,  helpless,  fearful  as  children  in  the  darkness. 
It  was  such  an  experience  that  from  sheer,  ele- 
mental fear — fear  that  was  implanted  in  the  germ- 
plasm  in  darkness  tragedies  in  the  caves  of  long 
ago — may  poison  and  dry  up  the  life-sustaining 
fluids  of  the  nerves,  causing  death  before  the  first 
physical  blow  is  struck. 

It  was  an  old  fear,  this  of  darkened  waters. 
Perhaps  it  was  remembered  from  those  infinite 
eons  before  the  living  organisms  from  which  we 
sprang  ever  emerged  from  the  gray  spaces  of 
the  sea.  And  I  knew  it  to  the  full. 

But  I  didn't  float  supinely  down  that  Cim- 
merian stream.  The  race  was  certainly  to  the 
swift.  Knowing  that  the  only  shadow  of  hope 
lay  in  reaching  the  end  of  the  passage  before  the 
air  in  my  lungs  was  exhausted,  I  swam  down 
that  stream  with  the  fastest  stroke  I  knew.  Car- 
ried also  by  the  waters,  I  must  have  traveled  at 
a  really  astounding  pace,  at  momentary  risk  of 
striking  my  head  against  the  rock  walls  of  the 
channel. 

An  interminable  moment  later  my  arms  swept 
about  Edith's  form.  I  felt  her  long  tresses 
streaming  in  the  flood,  but  her  slender  arms  had 
already  lost  all  power  to  seize  and  hold  me. 
Had  death  already  claimed  her?  Yet  I  could 
not  give  her  the  little  store  of  life-giving  air  that 


KASTLE   KRAGS  247 

still  sustained  me.  Holding  her  in  one  arm  and 
swimming  with  every  ounce  of  strength  I  had,  we 
sped  together  through  that  darkened  channel. 

No  swimmer  knows  the  power  and  speed  that 
is  in  him  until  a  crisis  such  as  this.  No  under- 
water swimmer  can  dream  of.  what  distances  he 
is  capable  until  death,  or  something  more  than 
death,  is  the  stake  for  which  he  races.  The  pas- 
sage seemed  endless.  Slowly  the  breath  sped 
from  my  lungs.  And  the  darkness  was  still  un- 
broken when  the  last  of  it  was  gone. 

The  trial  was  almost  done.  I  could  struggle 
on  a  few  yards  more,  until  the  oxygen-enriched 
air  in  my  blood  had  made  its  long  wheel  through 
my  body. 

What  happened  thereafter  was  dim  as  a 
dream.  There  was  a  certain  period  of  blunt- 
ness,  almost  insensibility;  and  then  of  tremen- 
dous stress  and  conflict  that  seemed  interminable. 
It  must  have  been  that  even  through  this  phase 
I  fought  on,  arms  and  legs  thrashing  in  what 
was  practically  an  involuntary  effort  to  fight  on  to 
the  open  sea.  The  last  images  that  drowning 
men  know,  that  queer,  vivid  cinema  of  memories 
and  regrets  began  to  sweep  through  the  disor- 
dered brain.  There  was  nothing  to  do  further. 
The  trial  was  done.  I  gave  one  more  convulsive 
wrench. 


248  KASTLE   KRAGS 

And  that  final  impulse  carried  me  into  a 
strange,  gray  place  that  the  senses  at  first  refused 
to  credit.  It  was  hard  to  believe,  at  first,  that 
this  was  not  merely  the  gray  borderland  of  death. 
Yet  in  an  instant  I  knew  the  truth.  I  was  head- 
ing toward  light:  the  subterranean  blackness  of 
the  channel  was  fading,  as  the  gloom  of  a  tunnel 
fades  as  the  train  rushes  into  open  air.  And  a 
second  later  I  shot  to  the  surface  of  the  open 
sea. 

It  was  through  no  conscious  effort  of  mine  that 
I  did  not  lose  my  life  in  the  moment  of  deliver- 
ance from  the  channel.  At  such  times  the  body 
struggles  on  unguided  by  the  brain ;  instinct,  long 
forgotten  and  neglected,  comes  into  its  own 
again.  As  I  came  up  my  lips  opened,  I  took  a 
great,  sobbing  breath. 

I  must  have  submerged  again.  At  least  the 
blue  water  seemed  to  linger  over  my  eyes  for 
interminable  seconds  thereafter.  But  there  were 
no  walls  of  stone  to  imprison  me  now,  and  I 
again  rose,  and  this  time  came  up  to  stay.  The 
life-giving  air  was  already  sweeping  through  me, 
borne  on  the  corpuscles  of  the  blood. 

In  an  instant  I  had  found  my  stroke — pad- 
dling just  enough  to  keep  afloat.  Edith  still  lay 
insensible  in  my  arms.  Only  a  glance  was  needed 
to  see  where  I  was.  A  gray  line  back  of  me 


KASTLE   KRAGS  249 

stretched  the  rock  wall,  and  beyond'  it  the  lagoon. 
I  had  been  swept  from  the  latter,  through  a 
submarine  water  passage  under  the  wall  and  a 
hundred  yards  into  the  open  sea.  Dell,  who 
had  gone  through  the  channel  ahead  of  us,  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen. 

As  soon  as  I  had  breath  I  shouted  for  help 
to  the  little  file  of  men  who  were  already  stream- 
ing through  the  gardens  toward  the  lagoon. 
They  must,  come  soon,  if  at  all.  Tired  out,  I 
couldn't  hold  on  much  longer.  In  the  pauses 
between  my  shouts  I  gazed  at  the  stark-white 
face  of  the  girl  in  my  arms.  My  senses  were 
quickening  now,  and  a  darkness  as  unfathomable 
as  that  of  the  undersea  passage  itself  swept  over 
me  at  the  thought  that  I  had  lost,  after  all — 
that  the  girl  I  had  carried  through  was  already 
past  resuscitation. 

But  the  men  on  the  shore  had  heard  me  now 
— I  was  aware  of  the  splash  of  oars  and  the  hum 
of  the  motor  of  Nealman's  launch.  Some  one 
shouted  hope — and  already  the  dark  outline  of 
the  motorboat  came  sweeping  towards  me.  It 
was  none  too  soon.  .  .  .  The  dead  weight 
in  my  arms  was  forcing  me  down,  and  my  feeble 
strokes  were  no  longer  availing.  But  now  strong 
arms  had  hold  of  me,  dragging  me  and  my  bur- 
den into  the  boat. 


250  KASTLE   KRAGS 

There  are  no  memories  whatever  of  the  next 
hour.  I  must  have  lain  unconscious  on  the  sand 
of  the  shore  while  Nopp  and  his  men  fought  the 
fight  for  Edith's  life.  At  least  I  was  there  when 
at  last,  after  lifetimes  were  done,  a  strong  hand 
shook  my  shoulder.  Van  Hope  and  Nopp  were 
beside  me,  and  they  were  smiling. 

"A  piece  of  news  for  you,"  Nopp  told  me, 
happily.  "You  put  up  a  good  fight — and  you'll 
be  glad  to  know  that  your  girl  will  live." 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THOUGH  we  were  out  of  the  water,  we  were 
not  yet  out  of  the  woods.  There  were  many 
explanations  to  be  made  and  many  guesses  that 
took  the  place  of  explanations.  No  questions 
could  be  put  to  the  butler,  Florey,  nor  Nealman, 
host  of  Kastle  Krags,  nor  to  Major  Kenneth  Dell. 
All  of  these  had  been  swept  down  the  sink-hole 
and  through  the  subterranean  channel  into  the 
sea. 

Perhaps  we  would  never  have  got  anywhere, 
for  a  certainty,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  letter 
and  the  photograph  that  William  Noyes  sent 
me  from  Vermont,  and  which  arrived  the  day 
following  our  journey  through  the  passage. 
Short  though  it  was,  it  served  to  clear  up  many 
matters  to  our  complete  satisfaction.  It  was 
addressed  to  me: 

I  am  sending  photo  of  that  scoundrel, 
George  Florey,  brother  of  the  dead  man. 
I  hope  it  helps  you  catch  him.  He  always 
hated  his  brother,  and  my  late  wife  told  me 
that  as  far  back  as  you  want  to  go  in  her 
family  you'll  find  one  brother  hating  an- 

251 


252  KASTLE   KRAGS 

other.  I  don't  know  where  to  tell  you  to  look 
for  George.  He  and  his  brother  both  had 
spent  most  of  their  lives  looking  for  a  chest 
of  treasure  that  was  hidden  by  their  grand- 
father down  where  you  are — in  Florida. 
They  just  took  this  name  of  Florey  the  last 
generation.  Before  that  it  was  Hendrick- 
son,  my  wife  told  me — and  before  that 
Heaven  knows  what.  Mostly  they  were  a 
bad  lot. 

After  I  had  read  it  I  showed  it  to  Nopp ;  and 
he  breathed  deeply.  But  he  made  but  one 
comment. 

"Human  nature  is  a  winner,  isn't  it,  Kill- 
dare?"  he  observed.  "Will  we  ever  see  the  head 
and  tail  of  it?  Now  let  me  see  the  picture." 

Neither  Nopp  nor  Edith  nor  any  one  who 
looked  at  it  could  mistake  the  likeness  presented 
in  the  photograph.  It  was  not  that  of  my  sus- 
pect, Mr.  Pescini.  One  glance  established  that 
fact.  The  well-bred,  rather  aristocratic  face 
was  none  other  than  that  of  Major  Kenneth 
Dell,  he  who  had  got  himself  invited  to  Kastle 
Krags,  and  who  had  died  in  the  trap  his  grand- 
father had  set  nearly  eighty  years  before. 

Edith  and  I  went  over  the  case  together,  and 
we  managed  to  fill  up  the  breaks  in  each  other's 
story.  We  talked  it  over  in  the  early  evening, 
sitting  in  a  secluded  corner  of  the  veranda. 


KASTLE   KRAGS  253 

She  had  already  mostly  recovered  from  the 
experience  of  the  day  before.  She  was  still 
weak  and  shaken,  but  seemingly  all  serious  com- 
plications had  been  averted.  And  she  resolutely 
refused  to  stay  in  bed. 

"It's  been  a  tragic  thing,  all  the  way 
through,"  she  began  in  the  voice  I  loved.  "It's 
over  now — but  Heaven  knows  it  cost  enough 
lives.  All  for  a  treasure  that  no  one  knows  for 
sure  is  a  reality. 

"I'm  going  over  the  case  simply,  Ned — and 
you  tell  me  if  I  have  it  right.  The  letter  shows 
that  both  George  Florey  and  David  Florey,  the 
butler,  were  the  grandsons  of  Hendrickson,  who 
once  owned  this  house — who  of  course  was  no 
one  but  the  original  Godfrey  Jason.  Jason  too 
had  hated  his  brother  enough  to  kill  him,  and  as 
the  legend  says,  it  was  Jason  who  first  buried  the 
treasure  in  the  lagoon. 

"He  put  it  near,  perhaps  just  beside  a  dan- 
gerous sink-hole  through  which  the  tidal  waters 
swept  under  the  wall  to  the  open  sea.  And 
when  he  died  he  left  two,  and  perhaps  more, 
copies  of  a  cryptogram  to  show  where  the  chest 
was  hidden. 

"As  you  say,  Dave  Florey,  one  of  the  two 
brothers  of  this  generation  of  the  Jason  family, 
unquestionably  got  hold  of  one  of  the  copies. 


254  KASTLE   KRAGS 

He  secured  the  position  of  butler  at  this  house 
on  purpose  to  hunt  for  and  secure  the  chest. 
Meanwhile  George  Florey — we  can  call  him 
Major  Dell,  the  name  he  assumed,  from  now 
on — got  track  of  the  hiding-place  of  the  treasure. 
The  letters  show  that  he  had  sought  for  it  and 
traced  it  from  Brazil  to  Washington,  D.  C. — 
at  the  latter  place  he  possibly  consulted  old 
marine  records.  He  evidently  had  considerable 
money,  and  was  earning  some  in  questionable 
ways,  and  through  his  acquaintance  with  Van 
Hope  he  got  himself  invited  to  this  house. 

"Here  he  found  his  brother.  It  must  have 
been  a  disagreeable  surprise  to  him — the  fact 
that  you  saw  him  so  shaken  and  seemingly 
alarmed  in  the  hall  would  indicate  that  it  was. 
As  the  Jason  brothers  had  done  before  them, 
these  two  men  hated  each  other  as  only  brothers 
can — jealously  and  terribly.  And  through  some 
series  of  events  that  will  never  be  known,  they 
met  that  night  beside  the  lagoon. 

George  Florey — rather,  Major  Dell — must 
have  been  a  thoroughly  wicked  man.  I  guess  he 
inherited  all  of  his  grandfather  Jason's  wicked- 
ness— otherwise  he  wouldn't  have  been  able  to 
play  the  part  he  did.  To  me  it  was  a  dramatic 
thing — this  heritage  of  wickedness,  generation 
after  generation:  this  blood  lust  and  hatred  that 


KASTLE   KRAGS  255 

was  the  curse  of  all  his  breed.  It  was  Cain  and 
Abel  again — the  same,  old  tragic  story. 

"They  met  on  the  lagoon  shore,  beside  the 
crags,  and  perhaps  Major  Dell  made  an  attempt 
to  wrest  the  copy  of  the  cryptogram  from  his 
brother.  It's  even  possible,  but  it  doesn't  seem 
likely,  that  it  was  the  other  way  'round.  At 
least,  they  were  working  at  cross  purposes,  both 
of  them  seemed  just  about  to  triumph — and 
hating  each  other  like  two  serpents,  they  came 
to  grips.  And  here  Dell  struck  a  fatal  blow — 
likely  with  some  terrible,  hooked  instrument  that 
he  had  brought  to  grapple  for  the  chest. 

"Florey  cried  out  in  his  death  agony  and  his 
fear,  and  Dell  was  obliged  to  flee  without  getting 
hold  of  the  cryptogram.  While  the  hunt  was 
going  on  through  the  gardens,  he  came  back  to 
the  body,  likely  searched  the  pockets  of  the  vic- 
tim, and  for  some  reason  that  can  never  be  ex- 
actly known,  dragged  the  body  into  the  lagoon. 

"Perhaps  he  thought  the  character  of  the 
wound  would  give  him  away.  There's  little 
doubt  that  he  threw  it  there  with  the  idea  of 
destroying  evidence — at  least  its  presence  some 
way  interfered  with  his  plans.  And  of  course 
before  the  night  was  done  it  had  drifted  to  the 
sink-hole  and  through  the  channel  to  the  open 
sea. 


256  KASTLE   KRAGS 

"Dell  likely  saw  you  pick  up  the  script,  and 
that  accounts  for  his  presence  in  your  room  that 
night.  Meanwhile  Nealman  and  I  were  work- 
ing on  a  copy  of  it  I  had  found  in  an  old  book. 
The  book  was  the  Bible,  by  the  way,  and  it  gave 
me  the  first  key  to  the  truth.  Nealman  offered 
to  divide  the  treasure  with  me,  if  he  was  able  to 
find  it.  That  promise  is  on  paper.  It  isn't  nec- 
essary now,  however — and  you  know  why." 

I  knew  why — well  enough.  As  his  niece, 
Edith  inherited  all  that  Grover  Nealman  left, 
including  this  Floridan  estate.  It  was  true,  how- 
ever, that  his  debts  just  about  wiped  out  all  his 
other  possessions. 

"As  you  know,  a  deal  in  the  stock  market  prac- 
tically ruined  him,"  she  went  on.  "The  only 
way  out  he  could  see  was  the  chest  that  both  of 
us  felt  was  hidden  in  the  lagoon.  He  never 
took  the  monster  legend  seriously,  but  always 
before  he  had  been  willing  to  wait  until  he  could 
procure  some  safe  appliance  to  rescue  the  chest. 
At  that  time  both  of  us  knew  almost  exactly 
where  it  was.  And  when  the  crash  came,  the 
sudden  need  for  money  and  his  desperation  sent 
him  out  in  the  darkness  to  procure  it.  He  too 
was  caught  in  the  undersea  channel. 

"Of  course  Major  Dell  was  never  even  menaced 
by  the  sink-hole.  Likely  he  had  some  knowledge  of 


KASTLE   KRAGS  257 

it.  He  vanished  the  third  night,  because  first, 
he  realized  that  Noyes'  testimony  would  sooner 
or  later  convict  him  of  his  brother's  murder,  and 
second,  because  the  disappearance  of  Florey  and 
Nealman  had  set  a  good  example  for  him.  Some 
secret  business  took  him  into  my  uncle's  room 
first,  as  you  guessed.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he 
was  hiding  in  the  dense  thickets  on  the  other 
side  of  the  lagoon  all  the  time — waiting  for  his 
chance  to  procure  the  treasure  and  make  his 
escape. 

"I  don't  know  that  you'll  believe  it,  but  by 
this  time  I  had  guessed  the  secret  of  the  lagoon. 
I  didn't  know  just  how  it  worked,  but  I  felt 
there  was  some  kind  of  an  underground  outlet 
that  would  sweep  away  any  one  who  tried  to 
wade  in  the  proximity  of  the  treasure.  Of 
course  I  didn't  suspect  Dell — I  thought  he  had 
merely  gone  as  Uncle  Grover  had  gone,  through 
the  sink-hole  to  his  death.  When  I  made  my 
attempt,  I  went  prepared." 

"But  how  dared  you  attempt  it?"  I  demanded. 

She  laughed  at  my  anger.  "I  wanted  to  know 
the  truth!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  owed  it  to  Uncle 
Grover — to  find  out  what  became  of  him.  I 
needed  the  treasure  chest,  too — for  his  securities 
won't  quite  balance,  he  told  me,  the  demands  that 
will  be  made  upon  the  estate.  And  finally — 


258  KASTLE   KRAGS 

maybe  there  was  another  reason,  too.  Perhaps 
you  know  what  it  was." 

The  narration  could  not  go  on  at  once.  It 
was  one  of  those  moments  that  a  man  always 
remembers,  and  holds  dear  when  most  earthly 
treasures  are  as  dust.  She  hadn't  forgotten  my 
own  dreams — the  plans  I  had  made  but  which 
seemed  so  impossible  of  fulfillment. 

"But  how  did  you  dare  take  the  risk?"  I 
demanded. 

"There  wasn't  any  risk — at  least,  I  didn't 
think  there  was.  I  felt  sure  that  a  sink-hole  in 
the  bed  of  the  lagoon  was  the  explanation.  The 
plank  I  dragged  out  there  was  plenty  big  enough 
to  hold  me  up.  You  know  a  floating  cake  of 
soap  doesn't  go  down  the  sluice  as  long  as  the 
bathtub  is  any  way  near  full  of  water.  The 
plank  would  have  held  me  easily  if  Dell  hadn't 
interfered  and  torn  it  from  my  hands. 

"Why  did  he  interfere?  Of  course  we  can 
only  guess  at  that.  I  think  he  was  waiting  for 
a  chance  to  take  the  treasure  himself — and  he 
saw  my  intention.  I  suppose  he  had  dreamed 
about  his  grandfather's  gold  until  it  was  a  ver- 
itable passion  with  him — a  mania — and  he  was 
willing  to  risk  death  in  the  sink-hole  sooner  than 
let  it  go?  Likely  he  meant  to  tear  my  hands 
from  the  plank  but  hang  on  to  it  himself.  Of 


KASTLE   KRAGS  259 

course  it  got  away  from  us  both.  That's  the 
whole  story.  Your  own  wonderful  endurance 
and  mastery  of  swimming  saved  me.  Doesn't 
that  seem  to  clear  up  everything?" 

"Almost  everything.  Yet  I  don't  see  why  Dell 
waited — why  he  hadn't  got  the  treasure  out 
some  time  night  before  last — or  yesterday " 

"Of  course  he  couldn't  work  in  daylight. 
Most  of  the  night  after  his  disappearance  the 
lagoon  was  guarded.  Yet  it  isn't  easy  to  see 
why  he  didn't  make  the  attempt  the  night  of  his 
disappearance " 

"I  suppose  he  was  waiting  for  a  favorable 
time.  He  had  to  have  certain  equipment,  I  sup- 
pose— to  keep  from  being  carried  down.  Per- 
haps there  are  certain  periods  when  the  flow 
through  the  channel  is  less,  and  there  isn't  so 
much  suction " 

A  sudden  light  in  the  girl's  face  arrested  me 
and  held  me.  Her  eyes  were  sparkling  like  blue 
seas  in  the  sunlight.  "  'At  F.  T.,'  "  she  quoted. 
"Ned,  Ned,  what  stupids  we  are!  Don't  you 
see " 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do.  I  saw  'At  F.  T.,'  at 
the  bottom  of  the  script,  but  I  don't  know  what 
it  meant " 

"  'At  flood  tide' — that's  what  it  meant !  Just 
as  a  sailor  would  say  it.  He  told  on  his  own 


260  KASTLE   KRAGS 

directions  the  way  to  safety.  When  the  tide 
flows  the  water  movement  is  probably  in  the  other 
direction  through  the  underground  channel,  and 
the  lagoon  is  as  safe  as  a  lake;  and  it's  only 
in  the  ebb-tide  that  the  suction  exists.  And  of 
course  the  ignorant  treasure-seeker  would  make 
his  search  in  the  ebb-tide,  when  the  surface  of 
the  lagoon  is  still." 

Exultant  over  this,  a  discovery  that,  if  the 
treasure  was  a  reality,  assured  its  procurance, 
neither  of  us  noticed  the  dignified,  courteous 
approach  of  Pescini  from  the  hallway.  He  was 
distinguished  as  ever,  his  dinner-jacket  unruffled, 
his  linen  gleaming  white  in  the  dying  light. 

"Have  you  seen  Sheriff  Slatterly  anywhere?" 
he  asked  me.  "I'm  in  a  sort  of  quandary — I've 
got  a  letter  on  my  hands  and  don't  know  what 
to  do  with  it." 

"A  letter?"  I  repeated.  The  skin  was  twitch- 
ing on  my  back. 

"Yes.  I  hardly  know  whether  to  send  it  on — • 
or  whether  he  will  want  it  for  the  investigations. 
It's  one  that  Major  Dell  gave  me  a  few  days 
ago  to  mail,  but  which  I  dropped  in  my  pocket 
land  forgot." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE  guests  refused  to  go  back  to  their  city 
homes  until  they  had  seen  the  contents  of  the 
chest  that  had  brought  such  woe  to  Kastle 
Krags;  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  make 
an  immediate  search.  When  daylight  came 
again  Edith  announced  that  she  had  fully  recov- 
ered from  the  adventure  of  two  days  before,  and 
was  ready  to  help  me  recover  the  chest. 

"I  can't  wait  to  see  if  it's  really  there,"  she 
confessed. 

We  went  in  flow-tide,  and  we  guided  a  boat 
over  the  place.  But  we  weren't  trusting  en- 
tirely to  our  theory  that  the  sink-hole  was  only 
dangerous  when  the  tide  was  running  out.  A 
stout  rope  was  attached  to  the  prow  of  the  boat, 
and  I  lashed  it  about  my  waist  before  I  stepped 
off  into  the  water. 

We  had  guessed  right  about  the  underground 
channel.  At  flood  tide  a  swimmer  could  pass 
directly  over  it  in  safety.  I  located  a  great 
limestone  boulder  that  I  thought  was  undoubt- 
edly the  "white  rock"  of  the  script,  but  as  the 

261 


262  KASTLE   KRAGS 

surface  was  rough  and  choppy  from  the  tidal 
waves  breaking  against  the  rock  wall,  it  was 
impossible  to  find  the  chest  by  power  of  vision 
alone.  I  found  I  had  to  dive  again  and  again, 
groping  with  my  hands. 

But  in  scarcely  a  moment  my  foot  encountered 
an  iron  chain  at  the  base  of  the  rock.  In  a  mo- 
ment more  the  search  was  ended.  A  small,  iron- 
bound  chest,  hardly  of  twelve  inch  dimensions, 
was  fastened  to  the  chain,  which  in  turn  was 
hooked  securely  in  a  crevice  of  the  boulder. 

It  was  a  rather  wide-eyed,  sober  group  that 
rowed  back  to  the  shore.  In  the  first  place  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  believe  that  such  a 
seeming  legendary  thing  was  actually  in  our 
hands,  a  thing  of  weight  and  substance  and  un- 
questioned reality. 

The  chest  had  been  made  of  some  sort  of 
very  hard  wood,  chemically  treated,  and  showed 
not  the  slightest  sign  of  decay  in  the  eighty 
years  it  had  lain  in  the  water.  How  many  little 
crafts  had  passed  over  it!  What  a  scarlet  trail 
it  had  left  since  the  Argaml  had  borne  it  from 
Rio  de  Janeiro,  so  long  ago.  "But  naked  trea- 
sures breed  murder!"  Nealman  had  said — 
speaking  truer  than  he  knew.  .  .  .  "They 
get  home  to  human  imagination  and  human 
wickedness  as  nothing  else  can." 


KASTLE   KRAGS  263 

The  boat  touched  the  shore.  Nopp  lifted  the 
chest  easily  on  the  ground.  "Don't  be  too  hope- 
ful," he  advised  Edith  quietly.  "If  it's  gold 
that's  in  it,  you  couldn't  have  much  over  a  thou- 
sand. It  only  weighs  nine  or  ten  pounds,  box 
and  all." 

It  was  true.  And  the  box  itself,  bound  with 
iron,  could  easily  weigh  that  much.  Had  we 
been  hoaxed  by  an  empty  chest? 

Somehow  or  other,  nervous  and  fumbling, 
we  got  the  thing  open.  Some  of  the  rods  we 
broke,  others  we  bent  back.  And  at  first  we 
only  stared  in  blank  surprise. 

It  did  not  look  like  gold — the  contents  of  the 
chest.  Nor  was  it  a  string  of  precious  jewels. 
It  seemed  merely  a  bent,  shapeless  object  of 
some  dark-colored  metal,  and  a  few  dull  stones, 
some  of  which  were  as  large  as  hickory  nuts, 
loose  in  the  bottom.  Certain  words  were  said 
as  we  looked  own,  certain  questions  asked — but 
all  of  them  were  dim  and  lost  in  a  great,  won- 
dering preoccupation  that  dropped  over  me. 

Nopp  reached  a  big  hand,  took  one  of  the 
stones,  and  rubbed  it  on  his  trouser  leg.  Look- 
ing at  it,  he  rubbed  it  again  with  added  vigor. 
Then  he  stared  at  it  in  sudden,  fascinated 
wonder. 

"Good  Heavens!"  he  suddenly  exclaimed  in 


264  KASTLE   KRAGS 

tremendous  excitement.  "Do  you  know  what  this 
is?" 

We  turned  to  him,  staring  blankly.  "What 
is  it?"  Edith  asked.  Her  voice  was  quiet;  only 
the  bright  sparkle  in  her  eyes  revealed  how  excited 
she  really  was. 

"It's  an  emerald.  That's  what  it  is.  One 
of  the  finest  in  this  country.  It's  worth  a  whole 
chest  of  gold.  Killdare,  the  story  was  that  it 
was  a  Portuguese  ship — Abound  out  from  Rio?" 

"Yes " 

"And  the  chest  was  the  property  of  some 
noble  family,  Portuguese  princes  at  the  time  the 
court  of  Portugal  was  located  in  Rio  de 
Janeiro?" 

"Something  like  that " 

"The  property  of  a  noble  family!  Edith,  it 
was  unquestionably  the  property  of  the  ruling 
house  itself.  Wait  just  a  minute." 

He  took  -the  shapeless  thing  of  metal,  rubbed 
it  until  a  little  of  the  tarnish  was  gone,  revealing 
yellow  gold  beneath,  and  slowly  bent  it  in  his 
hands.  It  took  a  circular  shape.  Then  he 
showed  us  little  sockets,  set  at  various  points, 
that  had  been  the  settings  for  the  jewels.  We 
saw  the  truth  at  once. 

"A  crown!"  Edith  said. 


KASTLEKRAGS  265 

"Unquestionably  the  famous  crown  that  the 
Portuguese  king  wore  at  his  Brazilian  court — 
one  of  the  richest  courts  in  history.  The  jewels 
came  from  Brazil,  from  Peruvian  temples — 
Heaven  knows  where.  And  for  Heaven's  sake, 
Edith,  send  it  away  and  get  it  changed  into  se- 
curities. It's  death — that's  all  it  is.  It's  the 
kind  of  thing  that  drives  men  insane." 

We  took  the  yellow  thing,  antf  in  a  wonderful, 
elated  mood,  we  set  it  on  her  own  golden  curls. 
But  she  removed  it  quickly.  We  were  all  in- 
stantly sobered  as  she  put  it  into  my  hands. 

"It's  bad  luck  to  wear  it,"  she  said.  "It 
makes  me  creep  to  think  what  wickedness  it  has 
caused — clear  through  the  centuries.  I'm  an 
American — and  being  a  queen  has  never  appealed 
to  me." 

Nopp  smiled  quietly,  into  the  depths  of  the 
lagoon.  "But  you  intend  to  be  somebody's  queen, 
don't  you,  Edith?"  he  asked. 

And  thus  the  matter  of  Kastle  Krags  came 
to  a  new  beginning.  Edith  changed  the  jewels 
into  securities,  just  as  Nopp  advised,  and  a 
tenth  of  them  paid  the  obligations  that  were  left 
after  Nealman's  estate  was  settled  up.  The  rest 
provided  an  annual  income  that,  while  it  would 
have  been  considered  moderate  by  such  great 


266  KASTLE   KRAGS 

financiers  as  Marten  and  his  fellows,  seemed  of 
kingly  proportions  to  me.  At  least  it  provided 
for  the  maintenance  of  the  old  southern  manor- 
house  according  to  its  best  traditions. 

And  when  Edith  and  I  go  sailing  away  to 
strange  lands  beyond  the  sea,  bent  on  scientific 
research  and  adventure,  we  often  wonder  what 
haughty  princes  and  bearded  pirates,  lurking  in 
the  shadows  of  the  deck  are  saying  among  them- 
selves. Things  have  taken  a  great  turn,  they 
whisper  together,  when  the  jewels  for  which  they 
lived  and  fought,  did  murder  and  died,  have 
gone  to  sustain  a  rich  man's  secretary  and  a  pen- 
niless schoolmaster!  Perhaps  lovely  Portuguese 
princesses  watch  with  contempt;  and  ear-ringed 
villains,  scornful  of  such  science  as  mine,  swear 
evil  oaths  and  wonder  how  the  times  have  tamed ! 

But  perhaps  they  are  glad  that  their  watch 
of  the  lagoon  is  over !  There  is  nothing  to  hold 
these  restless  spirits  now,  and  you  can  hear  them 
rustling  no  more  in  the  forest,  or  feel  their 
tragic  presence  in  the  gardens.  Some  way,  the 
house  is  more  cheerful,  and  the  sea  no  longer 
conveys  the  image  of  desolation  and  mystery. 
When  our  young  friends  visit  us,  to  play  golf 
on  our  links  and  shoot  and  fish  in  the  lakes  and 
rivers,  they  invariably  speak  of  its  homely  charm 


KASTLE   KRAGS  267 

and  cheer.     We   have,   however,   made   certain 
improvements  in  the  grounds. 

We  have  huge,  black-lettered  signs  posted 
here  and  there  along  the  lagoon,  giving  certain 
advice  concerning  swimming  at  ebb  tide. 


THE  END. 


A     000127661     7 


